


Consequences and Complexities

by cklls



Series: Covered in Crimson [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Complete, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-23
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2017-11-26 15:34:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 34
Words: 276,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/651862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cklls/pseuds/cklls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to Covered in Crimson. It really wasn't his fault, but there had been consequences to his actions. They would both be dealing with the results for the rest of their lives. What does the future hold for Hermione? And how will Draco deal with what he's done?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Aftermath

_**Previously:** _

_He walked along the center street, peering in windows and stopping now and again to take a closer look at something that caught his eye. He was nearing the Apothecary when his eye was most definitely caught by a woman standing outside the shop. He wasn’t close enough to be absolutely certain, but from the rear, the woman looked like his mother. But, he reasoned, it just couldn’t be her. She was holding the hand of a small child, no more than three years old. He was drawn subconsciously to the woman who so resembled the mother who’d risked everything for him, and he found that he had taken several steps in her direction without even realizing that he’d moved. His eyes widened as the woman turned to profile, and her resemblance to Narcissa Malfoy became more than coincidence._

_His other senses began to function and he heard the child speak. “Mémère, where is Mummy? Why is she taking so long?”_

_The Narcissa Malfoy look-alike smiled at the child, obviously a girl, he noted as the whipping wind sent her little hat flying and her long, blonde curls tumbling to her shoulders. “Look, Louisa, she’s coming now.”_

_Draco tried not to look. Something told him it would be a very bad idea. But his eyes refused to listen to reason and he followed the direction of the woman’s gaze. The door of the Apothecary swung open and another woman stepped into the sunlight. The little girl shouted an enthusiastic greeting - “Mummy!” – and vaulted into her mother’s arms. This woman was a Hermione Granger look-alike._

_Oh, Merlin. No. How can this be? Draco Malfoy felt the blood leave his face and the ability to remain upright desert him in an instant. His knees buckled beneath him and struck the ground with a thud. In that moment, Narcissa Malfoy gasped in shock. In that second, Hermione Granger stared in disbelief. In that next breath, the tiny, bright eyes he met were an exact copy of his own._

And then…

Narcissa Malfoy was the first to move; she seemed to be the only one capable of it while her companions froze in either shock or fear. She took her granddaughter from her mother’s arms, as much to ensure that Hermione would not leave with her as to calm and comfort the anxious child. It wasn’t every day that one’s mum shrieked in shock and Louisa was not accustomed to anything but total composure from her only known parent. Her other parent, the one about whom the little girl knew next to nothing, swayed unsteadily on his knees as he reached a hand toward them. The man on the ground seemed unable to form coherent words, and his mother was now apparently suffering from a similar affliction.

“Mémère,” the toddler interjected, “why did the man fall down? He looks like Pépère.”

Shaken from her shock, Narcissa acknowledged the child’s astute observation. “Yes, he does look like Pépère, sweetheart. He’s just had a bit of a surprise. He’ll be just fine in a moment,” she projected, glancing pointedly at both Draco and Hermione, who had also yet to speak.

As if to ensure her prediction, Narcissa reached a hand out to meet Draco’s while she hitched the platinum-haired toddler higher on her hip. “Draco, dear, we obviously have a lot to discuss. Please, pull yourself together, darling, and get to your feet. You’re scaring Louisa,” she chided.

Hermione watched in shocked apprehension as the man she hadn’t seen in three years accepted his mother’s aid and rose unsteadily. The tiniest bit of regret at her own obfuscation crept into her thoughts. It was painfully clear that Draco had added up the evidence correctly and had literally been driven to his knees by the shock of it. She had so hoped to have the opportunity to ease him into the knowledge that he had fathered her daughter. The last thing she wanted was to cause the man more pain than he’d already experienced. She told herself that that had been her motivation for hiding Louisa from him all along. Having failed spectacularly, she cast about for some way to salvage some sanity and dignity from the situation. She finally found her voice.

“Draco, please. You and I obviously have things to discuss, but let’s go somewhere to talk privately,” Hermione pleaded. She glanced toward Narcissa, looking for guidance and agreement, which she found in the older woman’s nod. “We’ll go to the Manor.”

Draco, still too stunned to speak, much less offer an argument, nodded mutely and Apparated away, the picture of his childhood home clear in his mind.

Narcissa, holding Louisa tightly, fixed her gaze on Hermione and pursed her lips in concern. “I know this is not what either of us planned or hoped, but now he knows. He will have questions, and he deserves answers, Hermione. You’ve both suffered for what happened three years ago; let’s not make a difficult situation worse than it needs to be. We need to go home.”

Hermione straightened her spine and met Narcissa’s eyes. “He’ll be angry, won’t he?”

“Wouldn’t you? We’ve known that for three years, Hermione. I was afraid something like this might happen. That’s why I was so opposed to keeping this secret from him for so long. I understood your reasoning, and I didn’t completely disagree with it, but it wouldn’t have created such a drastic blow if we’d told him a few months ago.”

“Please don’t be angry with me, Narcissa. I’ve only done what I believed to be best for my daughter and for Draco. If I’m proved wrong, I’ll live with the consequences. But what’s done is done, and now we’ll have no choice but to live with the fallout. I’ll do what I can to explain it to him, and make it up to him. I’ll not do anything to keep him from Louisa. You must know that. We’re all going to need some time to adjust. Right now, I’m sure he’s waiting for us, so we’d better get to the Manor before he decides to come back to look for us.”

With that, the two women and their tiny companion Apparated directly into the family sitting room in Malfoy Manor. As it was the only spot in the building to which anyone – including family members - could directly Apparate, they were met by Draco and his father, both wearing nearly identical frowns of concern and confusion. Lucius’ hand was clamped firmly but not painfully on his son’s shoulder, preventing him from moving toward any of the new arrivals.

Hermione stepped toward Narcissa, reaching out her arms to relieve the older witch of her burden and enfold her daughter in a comforting hug. She whispered something into Louisa’s ear and turned toward Draco. “This is Louisa. Louisa Granger Malfoy. As I’m sure you’ve figured out, she is your daughter. I’d hoped to tell you more gently than this, but that can’t be changed now. I’m sorry.”

Draco nodded his head sharply, acknowledging Hermione’s words. He never took his eyes off the little girl who seemed to be staring at him as intently as he was at her. He listened as Hermione spoke again.

“Louisa, do you remember the pictures I showed you, the ones of the man I told you was away for a long time?” When the little girl nodded shyly, Hermione continued, “This is the man in the pictures. He is your Papa.”

Draco’s hand reached out of its own volition toward the little girl’s cheek and a long, thin finger trailed along its pudgy contour. “Louisa,” he whispered.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_Two Years and Four Months Earlier_

Draco shifted uncomfortably in the black leather chair. It wasn’t the seat that was the problem; on the contrary, it was the perfect combination of support and luxury. It was the awkward silence that filled the room that had unnerved him. The man opposite him was waiting for an answer to the incisive question he’d asked, and Draco knew from experience that he’d not be allowed to skirt this one.

“Dr. Roy, I just have no idea how to respond to that,” he finally admitted.

“How does it make you feel – to not have a certain answer?” he pushed.

“Confused. Frightened. Angry. Frustrated,” he responded, listing the predominant emotions that were tying him up in knots at the moment. Draco’s face twisted in an expression that was hard to interpret.

“Are you in pain?” the psychologist wondered.

“Physical pain, no. Emotional pain, definitely.” He rose from the chair to pace; maybe releasing some of that pent up energy would help. “It’s just that I don’t really know how I _should_ feel about her.”

“Draco, there’s no ‘should’ in this discussion. I’m just asking you to begin to consider how you’ll reconcile your internal conflicts about her. There’s no such thing as a decision, or a right or wrong answer to this. It’s about what’s going on in your head and your heart. Frankly, I’d be shocked if you did have a definitive answer to this now. It’s just my job to push you to get there eventually,” Dr. Roy placated and explained to the troubled young man.

Draco strolled to the window that overlooked the vast green expanse of the Boston Commons, shoving his hands into the pockets of the light tan trousers he’d worn. The enormous park in the center of the city was filled with people - strolling, jogging, playing catch with a little white ball and large leather gloves – in the waning light of the warm September evening. More than half of the people, men and women alike, seemed to be wearing some article of clothing that had a pair of embroidered red stockings on it. He wondered absently if it was some kind of club; he’d have to remember to ask someone.

“It’s just that she’s constantly in my head,” he confessed without turning to face his counselor.

“Why do you think that is?”

Draco shrugged. “Don’t know.”

“What if you did know?” Dr. Roy pushed, employing one of the oldest tricks in the therapist’s proverbial handbook.

Knowing that he’d not get away without a response to this one, either, he spoke the first thing that came into his head. “The dichotomy, I guess. What I did to her was so horrible, and what she did for me was so selfless, so kind, that it’s nearly impossible to reconcile the two.”

“But didn’t you do something selfless and kind for her, too?”

“I suppose, but I wouldn’t have had to if I hadn’t hurt her in the first place,” Draco argued.

“But that’s the point, Draco, isn’t it? You still didn’t ‘have to’ help her. You could have left her there without helping her at all.”

“That’s what she said,” he mumbled inaudibly.

“I’m sorry, Draco, would you repeat that? I couldn’t hear you,” the doctor pushed. He’d found that sometimes the most important information and biggest breakthroughs came with the patient’s self-talk.

“That’s what she said,” he repeated, finally turning from the window to meet Dr. Roy’s gaze.

“So why don’t you trust her words?”

“It’s not that I don’t trust her. I don’t trust _me_. I don’t trust that I deserve her forgiveness. I know that I didn’t deserve for her to speak up for me.”

“Why not?”

“Huh?”

“Why do you think you don’t deserve her forgiveness, or how she spoke up for you at your trial?”

“Are you sure that you’re not the crazy one here, Doc?” Draco scoffed. “I raped her, and I nearly killed her. Of course I don’t deserve her forgiveness.”

“But she gave it anyway.”

“Yes. But that says more about her than it does about me,” the young man argued.

“Why do you think so?”

“Because it was hers to give, not mine to demand.”

“Right. And?” he pushed his patient once more.

“And? I don’t know. She gave it.”

“So who are you to deny such a precious gift?”

The young wizard was speechless. Who was he, indeed?

“Look, Draco, she gave you that forgiveness with full knowledge of what you’d done _to_ her and what you’d done _for_ her. Is she a foolish person?”

“No, but...”

“’But’ is a dirty word here, Draco,” Dr. Roy warned, not unkindly.

“She’s a little bit of a bleeding heart.”

“So?”

“I guess maybe she saw me as one of her charity cases,” Draco asserted.

“Is that how you see yourself?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

“What does ‘charity’ mean to you?”

“Someone who can’t help themselves, I guess.”

“Were you able to help yourself out of that situation?”

“Which one?”

“Facing a prison sentence. Would you have gone to prison without her help?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. It would have been much more likely if she hadn’t testified.”

“So whether it was charity, or forgiveness, or both, she still gave you that gift. She didn’t have to; she wanted to. So she saw something in you that made her feel you deserved that from her. People usually don’t give gifts they feel are undeserved, do they?”

“Not unless they feel obligated, like a cousin’s wedding gift.”

“Why or how would she feel obligated? Did you place any pressure on her?”

“No. I did apologize, but I don’t think I ever specifically asked for her forgiveness. I know I never asked her to speak for me.”

“Did your family place any pressure on her?”

“Not to my knowledge. They seemed as surprised as I was that she defended me so vigorously.”

“So if she wasn’t pressured, and she certainly couldn’t have been obligated, she gave the gift of her own free will,” Dr. Roy concluded. “Yes?”

“I…” Draco faltered, not yet ready to accept the doctor’s logical pronouncement.

“Kneazle got your tongue?” the doctor teased.

“Fine, I guess I can intellectually understand that she did it because she wanted to, and that she actually doesn’t blame me for what happened. My brain gets that. It’s this,” he placed his hand over his heart, “that can’t quite comprehend. It hurts,” he whispered.

“What hurts?”

“I ache, knowing what I did to her, and to so many others. All those dreams we’ve talked about, you and I both know that they’re most likely memories. It makes my chest tight when I think about all those people that I hurt.”

“Draco, I’d be worried if you told me it didn’t bother you,” Dr. Roy retorted. He rose from his own chair and clapped the young man on his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze as he walked past to refill his ever-present coffee mug.

“Will it ever stop?”

“Completely? If you’re as sensitive a soul as I think you are, probably not. But that’s not to say that it will feel as crippling and consuming as it does now. Guilt is a little like grief that way. It dulls and diminishes, but you know it’s there under the surface.”

“Great,” Draco drawled.

“Yeah, it is. That’s your conscience continuing to guide you, and that’s a wonderful thing. It’s a life lesson that will never leave you. A costly one, mind you, but one that will make you a better man.”

“Yeah, like that’s real hard,” Draco mocked.

“What do you mean?”

“Being a better man. I surely couldn’t have been a worse one than I’ve been thus far.”

“I beg to differ, Draco. You were used. Your body was not your own. Your mind was not your own. You did some horrible things, but someday you will come to terms with the fact that you were not responsible for those actions. If you had made the conscious decision to do the things you were forced to do, would that have made you a worse person?”

He reluctantly agreed, “I suppose.”

“And in any case, the only thing a man can hope to ever be is better than he was yesterday, by even one small degree. Those increments add up, and before you know it, you’ve made real change, and real progress. I have confidence that you are capable of that, Draco. Now we need to work on getting you to believe that too.” Dr. Roy sat again, setting his coffee mug on the glass-topped side table. “Now, are you ready to tackle my question again?”

“Which one was that?”

“No editing, no thinking, no brooding. Just answer the first three words that come to mind. How do you feel about Miss Granger today?”

He breathed deeply. “Admiration. Gratitude. Sadness.”

Dr. Roy acknowledged his choices with a nod, and made a note in his file. “Thank you. Now, just one more thing before we finish for today. Have you been keeping in regular contact with your parents?”

“Yes, I try to. I generally speak with at least one of them every day over the Floo connection.”

“And how is that going?”

“Fine. I’ve spoken a bit more with my father than with my mother, but they’ve both been supportive and helpful.”

“Anything else?”

“Not really. It’s just… I don’t know. They both seem a bit…preoccupied lately.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“I’d have to guess that they are dealing with my mother’s return from the dead, and whatever fallout there’s been from their defection from the Dark Lord.”

“What do you think that might be?”

“I’d guess that most of it is pretty positive, but I’m sure there are some who will still doubt their sincerity and commitment, even after all the proof that Dumbledore provided. Some people aren’t easy to convince,” Draco observed.

“Do you fear that will be the case with you, too?”

“No, I’m fairly certain that people will still think of me as nothing more than a murderer and rapist. There are some who will never believe that I was under the influence of curses and potions.”

“Does that upset you?”

“Of course it does. I don’t want to be feared as someone who may suddenly snap and hurl an Avada at a random target. I don’t want to be stared at when I walk down a street as someone wonders whether I’ll curse them on the way by. I want to be someone that people can respect. I want to be able to build a real life for myself someday.”

“What do you think that might look like?”

“Right now, I have no earthly idea. I’m still working on getting through the day without wanting to hang myself,” Draco replied, mostly facetiously.

“You haven’t reached out to me for a couple of months with one of those major crisis events, Draco. Have you been holding out on me?” Dr. Roy probed, a little concerned at his patient’s phrasing.

“No, Doc, I’ve not been holding out on you. I haven’t really felt suicidal in that way since I left the cottage almost nine months ago. The two or three times I called you were in response to a couple of the more dramatic and vivid dreams or memories that really shook me. I haven’t had a really bad one in about six weeks. I do think that talking with you about them has helped.”

“Good. Just make sure that you do call me, anytime at all, if you feel anything like that.”

“I will. I promise.”

“Didn’t you tell me that you also made that promise to someone else?”

“Yes. Uh, no. Sort of.”

David Roy quirked an eyebrow in a near-perfect imitation of his young patient.

“Granger. She tried to get me to promise her, but I didn’t commit to anything, at least not verbally.”

“I see.”

“Look, I’m not really that desperate, Doc. I think I’m making a little progress in at least understanding what I’m thinking and feeling, and I know that offing myself is not a solution to anything. I’m thinking that atonement is a more appropriate avenue.”

“When did that occur to you?”

“Uh, in the last couple of weeks, I guess.”

“What do you think that might look like?”

“Again, I have no earthly idea. I just think that it would be the right approach. I haven’t worked out the how or the who parts, yet.”

“Well, there’s plenty of time for that, Draco. For now, though, our time is just about up for this session. What else do you need to talk about before we part company for the day?”

“I can’t think of anything else right now.”

“That’s fine. Let me give you some homework for the week. I want you to think about three things. First, what would ‘atonement’ look like? Second, if you could do or have anything you wanted for your life, what would that be? And finally, what would you say to Miss Granger if you saw her today?”

“Just the easy stuff, huh?”

“You’ve been making good progress, Draco. It’s time to start tackling some of these bigger issues. You’re ready.”

“Thanks, Doc. I’ll see you next week.”

_Meanwhile, in Wiltshire_

Lucius anxiously paced his study while awaiting his wife’s return from St. Mungo’s with Hermione. This was to be her final prenatal examination before her rapidly approaching due date. He’d just finished a conversation via the Floo with his son and was certain that the boy had noticed his distracted unease. Only the Unbreakable Vow he’d taken had prevented him from blurting out the news he felt his son should know. The promise, however, compelled him to keep his peace.

The exchange with Draco had given him some hope for his son’s recovery. It seemed that Healer Roy had helped him make some progress, particularly in dealing with the horrifying memories that had resurfaced in the form of nightmares. Draco had reported that he was sleeping better and hadn’t been troubled with the awful dreams more than a couple of times each week. That had been a vast improvement over the three or four per night that had left him exhausted and cross. Lucius couldn’t help but wonder how the news of the impending birth of his first child would have affected him. Would it have calmed him or, as Miss Granger had asserted, made him more distressed?

There was no denying that the circumstances of the child’s arrival were less than ideal. It had been conceived in a violent act of rape, not in the marriage bed as would have been expected of the Malfoy heir. In most instances of this type, they would have insisted on the termination of the pregnancy and, if that were not an option for whatever reason, wouldn’t have dreamed of acknowledging the child as a part of the family. These were not “most circumstances” however, and Miss Granger had been most insistent that she would not end the pregnancy. It was, apparently, in extreme violation of the beliefs with which she’d been raised. He and Narcissa had respected her position and, truth be told, would not have insisted upon that course of action, regardless of her wishes. It was, in their minds, her decision to make.

The truly unusual twist was that they’d decided, with no real debate, to welcome both her and their son’s offspring into the Malfoy fold with all the inherent rights and protections. To a casual observer, it would almost appear as though she’d married into the family or been adopted by them. The latter was closer to the truth, though there had not been any formal binding proceedings. They had seen to Miss Granger’s financial security and medical needs and would, upon the child’s live birth, establish the appropriate trust funds. It seemed the right thing to do after all she had done to ensure that Draco was not now wallowing at Azkaban for the rest of his natural life.

Lucius’ musings were interrupted by the sounds emanating from the grand foyer. The carriage that had transported the two ladies to and from the Wizarding hospital was being cleaned and stored for its next use by the house-elves assigned to stable duty. He could hear the women talking animatedly as they rounded the corner to meet him.

“We have a lot to do in such a short time, dear. I’ll organize a team of house-elves to help with the work, once we’ve finalized your decisions,” Narcissa stated.

Lucius interrupted their chatter, requesting to be brought in on the conversation. “What decisions, mon couer?”

“Oh, Lucius, we’ve had the most wonderful morning!” Narcissa enthused. “Hermione finally agreed to learn the sex of the child, and we’re having a girl!”

Lucius raised an eyebrow at his wife’s use of the plural; she had fully embraced the idea of this baby becoming a true Malfoy. “That’s welcome news, dear. Congratulations, Miss Granger. I’m sure she’ll be as lovely as you.” He tilted his head in a gentlemanly bow.

“We need to complete plans for decorating the nursery, now that we know we’ll have a little princess with us. Healer Glouzgal says that the baby will likely arrive in about a week, so we haven’t much time to get everything ready,” Narcissa told her husband.

Lucius turned to face Hermione and directed his question toward her. “Is there anything you require, Miss Granger, beyond the furnishings that have already been placed in the room?”

“I can’t think of much, beyond a few outfits for when she comes home. There’s already a wonderful cradle, a changing table, a rocking chair, and a large dresser. We can transfigure the cradle into a crib once she’s a couple of months old. Narcissa has already filled the room with more toys than she’ll need for her entire childhood,” Hermione noted with a grin.

“Oh, Hermione, you need to check in the wardrobe. It’s already been filled with appropriate clothing. I do hope you like pink,” Narcissa said, mischief underlying her tone. “What we need to do is settle on things like the wall color, new carpeting, draperies, murals for the walls – a theme, if you will.”

Hermione appeared to be a bit dumbfounded. She’d thought that the room was lovely as it was. The walls were a creamy white and linens of ivory eyelet decorated the baby’s mahogany furniture and the windows. It might have been a little plain, but it was simple and elegant. “I really hadn’t given it much thought, Narcissa. I thought the nursery looked nice.”

“Nonsense, dear. Nice isn’t nearly good enough for our first granddaughter. We’ll spend a little time this afternoon looking through some magical design books to get some ideas. I’m sure we’ll find something that will tickle your fancy,” Narcissa assured her.

When Hermione’s facial expression resembled that of a house-elf caught by a Stunner, Lucius intervened. “Don’t argue with her, Miss Granger. I’ve learned over the years that it’s wasted effort. Your life will be much more pleasant if you follow my lead and just say ‘Yes, Narcissa,’” he advised.

“Well then, I guess we have our plan for the afternoon. Yes, Narcissa,” Hermione repeated, returning Lucius' raised eyebrow with an exaggerated roll of her eyes.

Ninety minutes later, after the trio had shared a lunch of cold meats, salads, and cheeses in the atrium, Narcissa and Hermione made their way to the nursery with a pile of design books floating behind them. A flick of Narcissa’s wand duplicated the rocking chair and another transfigured the small night table into a larger surface where the books were now stacked. Narcissa held a parchment and quill at the ready to make note of anything that they decided to purchase or add to the room’s decorations.

Hermione began to page through the first book, one based on the Wizarding world’s equivalent of childhood fairy tales. While a couple of them were somewhat familiar, they didn’t really strike her as something peaceful and soothing for her baby. She set that book aside in favor of another. This one featured magical beasts, many of which she deemed downright scary. She could not imagine having a babe awaken every morning to enormous, moving Hippogriffs. That, too, went to the rejected pile.

Narcissa had opened another of the enormous tomes and was paging through slowly. This one featured some of the creatures most Muggles would consider mythical beasts. Fairies, unicorns, nymphs, and winged horses (known to most as a Pegasus) flitted about the pages. Hermione peered over her shoulder and made a little hum of approval.

“Do you see something here that you like, dear?” Narcissa asked when she noticed Hermione’s interest.

“Maybe. Those seem more gentle and appropriate for a little girl than some of these. May I?” she asked, holding out her hand to shift the book so that both of them could see it.

“The fairies and the unicorns are my favorites,” Narcissa offered.

Hermione flipped between the pages, watching the magically charged images move much as they would when added to the walls of the nursery. She agreed with Narcissa that the two she’d mentioned were particularly pleasing. “The unicorns. They were a favorite of mine when I was a child, long before I knew they really existed. Let’s do that,” she decided, a broad smile creasing her cheeks.

“Unicorns it shall be!” Narcissa confirmed, shutting the unneeded books and vanishing them with a flick of her wand. “I was thinking that we could color the walls with just the faintest hint of pink, and have the unicorn theme run along the chair rail. Would that please you, dear?”

“That would be lovely. And maybe we could change the curtain color to be a slightly darker shade of pink than the walls, and make the bedding match. If it’s acceptable to you, we could leave the carpet in this cream color. I don’t want to the room to feel like we’re living inside a cotton candy.”

“Whatever you wish, dear, will be fine with me. I’ll find a couple of stuffed unicorns to add to the crib, and a larger one for the corner of the room, just as an accent. How’s that?”

“Perfect. It will be a room that every little girl would only dream of.”

“I’ll get the house-elves to work on it starting tomorrow. We want to be sure that everything is ready for when our little one comes home.”

“I’m sure we have a few days, Narcissa. I’m feeling a little tired, but not quite ‘ready’ yet, if you know what I mean,” Hermione noted. “She’s going to want a few more days before she greets us, I think.”

“Have you given any thought to a name for her yet?” Narcissa wondered.

“I’ve been thinking a bit, but I honestly thought it was going to be a boy. I don’t know why. Now that we know differently, I’m going to need to give it a little more thought. If you have any family traditions that I should know about, I’m glad to hear about them,” Hermione offered.

“Most of the first-borns in the Malfoy family have been boys, so there are some traditions that follow, but since the child will be a girl, there is not as much precedent to follow. Lucius and I would be most honored, however, if you would give her the Malfoy name as her surname. We are committed to acknowledging her as one of our own, regardless of the circumstances with Draco.”

“Wouldn’t that mean that it’s more likely that Draco will find out? I’m serious in my commitment to ensure that he is not burdened with knowledge of this until his exile is ended.”

“Not necessarily. You know that the terms of his sentence mean that he is not allowed to initiate contact with anyone in Wizarding Great Britain except his father and me. He’s not told anyone else where he is spending his exile, to my knowledge, and it would fall under the Unbreakable Vow that we not tell anyone. He does not receive the renewed Daily Prophet, and even if there is a birth announcement, we can be sure that it is limited to a one-line item. He wouldn’t be one to read such things anyway,” Narcissa reasoned. “I think the secret would be as safe as it could be.”

“I suppose you’re right. I would certainly not be opposed to having my baby carry the Malfoy name. I would like to include my family name as well. Since I really have no family left, it would be a way for our name to continue.”

“I’m sure that would be lovely, Hermione. Now you’ll only need to determine her given name.”

“I do have one idea. It’s the name of an author. She wrote one of the first books that truly captured and fed my love for reading. Her name was Louisa May Alcott, and I’ve always loved that name. How does ‘Louisa Granger Malfoy’ sound to you?” Hermione asked, testing out the name aloud.

“I think it sounds beautiful,” Narcissa agreed. “Now we just need to await her arrival.”

“I promise you, Narcissa, no one is more anxious for that day than I am,” Hermione vowed, stroking her robe-clad belly. “I’ve been lucky that it really hasn’t been a difficult pregnancy, though I could have done without three full months of morning sickness, but I will be grateful to have this part of the whole mothering process done.”

“Oh, love, I hate to tell you, but this is the easy part,” Narcissa warned her, laughing.

“I was afraid of that. You could have let me have my delusions for a few more days, at least,” Hermione teased back.

“Don’t worry, dear. I promise you won’t be alone.”


	2. Birth

Draco Malfoy was bone tired. When he’d decided to take a job in a restaurant, he’d had no idea how thoroughly physical the work would be. Without the assistance of magic, he’d learned quickly that there was a reason it was called “work.” His job at The Grapevine Restaurant had changed a bit since he started in early April. The real dirty job of Kitchen Helper had lasted for about three months, but it had been more than enough. He was grateful that he’d been blessed with a reasonably good brain and that his supervisors were wise enough to recognize that his talents and skills were being wasted with sweeping floors and washing pots. His new assignment as a waiter was no less tiring, but at least he was able to interact with people beyond the confines of the hot, busy, noisy kitchen.

Now, he was thankful for all the times his parents had taken him out to dinner. He’d come to learn what patrons wanted and didn’t from those who were serving their needs. A good smile, a pleasant but quiet voice, an unobtrusive but ready presence, and a good sense of humor were critical skills and characteristics for any member of the wait-staff. He’d found that his cultured English accent was a real plus, and his good looks didn’t hurt either. He regularly received the highest tip-to-ticket ratio in the house, after just weeks in the position.

It was the end of an eight-hour shift, and he’d not had more than one short break for his own late afternoon meal. On his feet for the entire time, dashing back and forth from the front of the house to the kitchen with heavy trays and platters laden with food and drink, had left his arms aching and his back stiff. It had been a little more than four months since his promotion and he was still getting accustomed to how much more physical this part of the job was than he’d anticipated. His boss had teased him that he’d be building bulging biceps in no time; the man hadn’t been wrong. Draco helped a little with the late night clean-up, counted his tips – setting aside the customary ten percent for the Kitchen Helper who’d replaced him – and gathered his mid-weight coat for the long walk home. The weather was a little cool but not unpleasant, even at nearly midnight, so he decided to fore-go the bus to save a little cash.

The long walk allowed him to mull over the three new assignments given to him by his Mind Healer and Psychologist, David Roy. He had to agree with the man that he felt he’d made some progress, but there were still so many anxieties and issues to address. He also had his standing assignment, based on the question the therapist asked him every week: “How do you feel about Miss Granger today?” He still hadn’t been able to figure out why that question was so important to the doctor, and the man had refused to answer Draco’s curiosity about it. It was closely tied to the third new assignment which asked what he would say to the woman if he spoke with her now; he decided to put the two linked items away for future consideration. He’d tackle the question about what he wanted in his life first.

The first thing that came to mind as he walked along the maple-lined streets, the trees’ leaves having started to fall from their branches as the season shifted into late autumn, was that he wanted to be less consumed by the pain he felt over his guilt. To ask that he be free of it entirely was too much to hope for. He also wished for a little more financial security. He was not accustomed to living hand-to-mouth, and he hoped that the Ministry would hold to their promise to restore his access to the Malfoy inheritances once he’d served his sentence. He was trying to live on just his earnings, leaving the small remainder of the bequest from Grandmère Rosier for true emergencies. Thus, his near-poverty existence had given him a great deal of perspective on those who had not been as fortunate as he to be born into wealth. If it hadn’t been for the family home in which he’d been allowed to live, he doubted he’d have had enough money to afford to eat regularly. He set that thought aside; maybe there was something he could do there to fulfill his desire to make atonement. He thought that he’d like to live in England again, but whether he wanted to live in Wiltshire with his parents was up for debate. He knew he would appreciate the comfort of his childhood home, but questioned whether he’d be able to live there after being on his own for such a long time, once his sentence was complete.

At the moment, he had no idea what he wanted to do as a career. It had always been expected that he would join the family business, which was fundamentally an import/export business dealing primarily in goods for the Wizarding world. He knew he wouldn’t be surprised to learn that his father had expanded the product categories to include goods for the Muggle world. He’d have to ask the next time they spoke. Whether he’d continue with his restaurant career was a very open question. He didn’t dislike the atmosphere or dealing with people, and Merlin knew he liked the perk of eating decent food from the kitchens, but whether he could make a career out of being a waiter was very doubtful.

He thought it was too much at this stage to hope that he might someday have a family. His reputation was in the toilet, and there were few who would easily accept that he was truly under compulsion and Imperius spells for so long, regardless of the evidence presented at his trial. The Wizarding world’s citizenry had long memories and limited capacity for forgiveness, particularly among the purebloods who had formerly been his own social strata. It was doubtful that he’d ever be accepted in those circles again. His last thought as he reached his cottage’s doorstep some twenty minutes after leaving The Grapevine was about sex. Someday, he’d like to feel that he might want to have sex with a woman again. His libido had been sorely lacking, and other than his typical early morning tumescence, he’d just not been interested, regardless of the number of pretty young things who had winked and smiled at their handsome young waiter. 

Tomorrow was Wednesday, his day off, so he didn’t worry too much about being up late. He was looking forward to a long, hot shower, a glass of butterbeer (which he’d thankfully been able to procure in a nearby Wizarding market), an hour or so of reading a book he’d found in the cottage’s small library, then the sweet bliss of sleep. He’d not had one of those troubling nightmares in almost a week and was hopeful that he’d have another uninterrupted night of rest. A quick stop in the study revealed the post that had been sent through the Floo; it could only be from one of his parents, so he bent to pick up the note, shaking off the soot that had settled on the surface.

He read his mother’s elegant, careful script:

_Dearest Draco,_

_You and I haven’t had the opportunity to speak in the last couple of days, as I’ve been tied up with a little project, but I did want to let you know that I’m thinking of you and hoping that all is well. Since you didn’t answer when I called earlier, I must assume that you are probably at work this evening._

_Your father tells me that you’ve had some welcome success working with your Mind Healer, and I’m most happy to hear that. I have faith in you, dear. I'm also so gratified that the promotion you received at work a few months ago has continued to go well and that you’ve earned some additional money through gratuities for your good service. I do so wish that I could send you a little something, but you know how carefully they monitor your receipts. I’m glad that the extra earnings have lightened your burden a bit. It just proves our faith in you was not misplaced; you’ve already achieved two major coups, first in getting the job and then in earning a promotion so quickly. Your father and I are both so proud of you, dearest._

_There is not much news from here that I can tell you. I’ve done a little redecorating in one of the rooms on the third floor, in the East Wing. Your father seemed to be pleased with the results. I’m most anxious for you to see it when you return home._

_We are still planning to come for a visit early next month, once a few little things settle down here. Your father has arranged an international Portkey for the 7th, to arrive in Boston. We will Apparate to the cottage from there, so do not worry about collecting us. We plan to stay for three days. I’m giving you this early notice in the hopes that you will be able to arrange your work schedule so that we can have at least one full day together. If you cannot, we will understand and accept any time you are able to spend with us._

_I am looking forward to speaking with you in the next couple of days, darling, and seeing you in a couple of weeks._

_With much love,_

_Mother_

Draco dropped the note on the desk, thinking to send a short reply after he was done with his shower. He ran up the steps into the master bedroom that he’d claimed as his own. It was not even a quarter the size of his own room at Malfoy Manor, but it was easily twice the size of the larger bedroom in the cottage he and Hermione had shared so many months ago. The adjoining bath was quite old-fashioned and probably hadn’t been remodeled in at least forty years. The addition of a shower head over the old claw-footed tub was the only major concession to modernity.

The porcelain surface was terribly cold until heated by the warmth of the falling water, so Draco pushed aside the curtain to get the taps started. He mentally corrected himself: Faucets, that’s what they call them here. Only when the water was flowing did he begin to strip out of his clothes. He’d managed to juggle a patron’s unfinished plate of linguini with red clam sauce just enough that it hadn’t hit the floor but had indeed stained his formerly crisp white shirt. Thankfully, it had been at the end of his shift. Oh, for a Scourgify spell! Instead, he’d have to soak the garment overnight in cold water and a little bleach. He had only four shirts, supplied to staff by the restaurant’s owners, so he couldn’t afford to lose one.

He looked in the full length mirror that hung against the back of the door, not exactly admiring himself, but not displeased with what he saw. His boss hadn’t been kidding about building muscles as a waiter. His chest and arms had gained a fair degree of definition and just the smallest hint of bulk during the months he’d been at this new assignment. He resisted the tiny urge to flex. What would be the point, after all?

Draco untied and toed off his black oxford shoes, then stripped off his simple black trousers, black socks, and white cotton boxers, tossing the dirty clothing into a pile for the next day’s laundry chores. He pulled back the curtain and stepped over the edge of the tub into the stream of water. He screamed like a little girl when he was hit by liquid that he’d expected to be hot but most definitely wasn’t. He jumped back out of the tub, shivering from the blast of cold. It brought him back in time to the last time he’d taken a cold shower, months ago and thousands of miles away. It was not a happy memory. He shivered, this time, not from the cold but from the horror in that recollection.

He wrapped a large bath towel around his waist and reached in to shut off the water. With no idea what had caused the hot water to fail, he also had no clue how to fix it. He turned on the faucet in the sink to see if he’d have a different result. To his distress, the water there was just as frigid. This was a magical house; he’d never heard of a failure of this sort. He’d have to contact someone for help. His father was the logical choice, since he was not allowed to initiate contact with anyone else in Great Britain, and he knew no magical people in Salem save for a couple of shopkeepers.

He mentally calculated the time difference; it would be about six-thirty in the morning in Wiltshire. A bit uncivilized for normal calling hours, but his father was usually an early riser. He’d take the risk. Noting his rather obvious state of undress, Draco pulled on a pair of cotton sleep pants and a t-shirt before activating the Floo connection.

“Father,” he called. “Are you available?” He was a bit surprised that the reply from Lucius Malfoy was nearly instantaneous.

“Draco! What are you doing here?” The question was a bit ungracious, Draco thought, but not entirely undue after such an early morning invasion.

“I’m sorry to disturb you at this hour, Father, but I’ve a bit of a problem that I don’t know how to handle,” he explained. Draco was surprised to hear some noise and shuffling along with some muffled voices in the background. Had he interrupted an early business meeting?

“I’ll be with you in a moment, Son. I just need to take care of something here. Won’t be but a minute,” he promised, then disconnected the Floo link.

Draco was left a bit dumbfounded. He’d clearly interrupted something at Malfoy Manor. He had no choice but to wait for his father to return his call. He paced around the room for a few minutes, trying to think about what he could do to solve his hot water problem, but without a wand in this magical building, he was truly stumped. He was most grateful when he heard the Floo re-engage and his father’s voice come through the connection.

“Draco, I’m back,” he announced. “What is your problem, Son?”

“I apologize, Father, for disturbing you so early, but I really had no one else to call. It seems that I have a magical plumbing problem. There’s no hot water here at the cottage.”

“Oh, I see. And of course, you can’t fix anything without your wand,” Lucius confirmed.

“Exactly. Is there a way to fix this without magic?” Draco wondered.

“No, I’m afraid not. There are charms that need to be periodically renewed on magical systems. The house-elves typically take care of them, but you don’t have any there with you, obviously. If you give me a moment, I’ll need to place a couple of calls to see if I can secure permission to send a house-elf to help you. Failing that, I’ll try to get an emergency international Portkey arranged so that I can come by to renew the charm myself. Either option will probably take an hour or so to accomplish. I’ll contact you over the Floo as soon as I have an answer, Draco. Just sit tight,” his father instructed.

Draco breathed a sigh of relief. He rather hoped that the latter option would be approved; it would be nice to have a visit, however brief, with his father. “Yes, Father. I’ll wait to hear from you.” He disconnected from the Floo and went to the sitting room to retrieve the book he’d been reading. He’d just do the things he’d originally planned, but in a different order.

_Meanwhile, at Malfoy Manor_

“Merlin, I can’t believe he called right now, of all times!” Hermione gasped. A new contraction had begun and she was unable to speak for a moment. They had been just about to place a call to Healer Glouzgal, Hermione’s obstetrical caregiver, at the same moment Draco had made his connection. Hermione had gone into labor, almost exactly as the Healer had predicted, one week from her last visit, but about two weeks before her original due date. Louisa was ready to join the family.

“Narcissa, I’m going to need you to stay with Hermione and get her to St. Mungo’s while I deal with Draco’s problem. If I don’t help him with his request, he’ll be suspicious. I just hope that he didn’t hear anything that was going on here in the background. Regardless of how much I think he should be aware of what’s happening, right this minute is not the time to tell him. I’ve bought an hour’s time, but you should really be going now,” Lucius instructed, taking charge of the situation.

“Yes, dear, I think you’re right. Hermione and I will be fine. She won’t be ready to deliver for several hours yet. You do what you need to and I’ll place the call to St. Mungo’s. I’ve already called for the carriage, so we’ll be ready to leave momentarily.”

“I’ll use the Floo in the library so you can do what you need to here,” Lucius confirmed as he left the two women. It was the work of minutes to send an urgent message to their solicitor, Barrister Phillips, to start the petitioning process for specific aid for Draco’s little problem. Twenty minutes later, he’d received permission to secure an international Portkey. The house-elf solution had been denied due to a prohibition on cross-continental transport of non-quarantined magical creatures. He sent an owl to Narcissa to notify her that he’d be away for a couple of hours, then gathered a small hamper full of gifts and treats that he had requested be approved for delivery. He opened the Floo connection once more to notify Draco of his impending arrival.

“Thank you, Father,” Draco breathed in relief, “I look forward to seeing you in a short while.”

“I should be there in about thirty minutes, Son,” Lucius confirmed.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

In the delivery room at St. Mungo’s, Hermione Granger had been in labor for several hours and her baby’s arrival was imminent. Her hair and skin were damp with perspiration from the pain of the contractions and the effort of pushing. Magical potions and pain-relief spells had lessened her discomfort to some degree, but could not completely eliminate the travail of childbirth; she had to be sufficiently aware of her body to do her part in the delivery process.

“We’re almost there, Hermione,” Healer Glouzgal encouraged. “Two more ought to do the trick.”

Narcissa stood at Hermione’s shoulder, squeezing her hand and giving her moral support along with the ice chips that kept her mouth from turning to cotton. “You’re doing beautifully, dear. Our little Louisa will be with us in no time at all. I can’t wait to meet her,” the grandmother-to-be whispered.

“Now, let’s have another good push, Hermione,” Healer Glouzgal instructed. “I can see her head crowning perfectly.”

The young witch groaned with the effort, squeezing her abdominal muscles with every ounce of energy in her exhausted body. Even with the pain relievers and numbing agents, Hermione could feel the unyielding stretch of the birth canal. Thoroughly spent, she collapsed back against the immense stack of pillows and Narcissa’s comforting arms.

“Perfect, Hermione. You can rest for a quick minute, then we’ll have one more push,” the Healer told her.

She nodded, too exhausted to speak. It was almost over. A tiny part of her lamented that she did not have the love and support of a willing and overjoyed father for her little girl. For the foreseeable future, she would need to play both parental roles. The Malfoys’ roles were less well-defined, but she did feel certain they would be active participants in their granddaughter’s life. Hermione’s woolgathering was interrupted by her Healer’s demands that she push – hard – for the final time. 

“Bear down, Hermione, as hard as you can.”

With the most intense effort she’d ever mustered, Hermione pushed again, assisting the expulsion of her baby from its gestational home. Healer Glouzgal held the infant’s head as it emerged and guided her shoulders out of the birth canal. The baby’s chest, hips, and legs followed in quick succession. She was covered in blood and placental fluid, but her tiny hands and feet flailed as she tasted her first breath of air. The mediwitch assisting the Healer cut the umbilical cord, and then used a gentle cleaning spell to clear away the mucus in the newborn’s eyes, nose, and mouth. She removed the residue of amniotic fluid from Louisa’s tiny pink body while Hermione was assisted in expelling the afterbirth with one final effort. The new mother wept with exhaustion, relief, and immeasurable joy as she heard her little one’s lungs emit their first trembling wail. It was a matter of seconds before the infant was wrapped in a warm blanket and returned to her mother’s waiting arms.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco had rarely been so happy to see anyone as he was to see his father appear via Apparation on the cottage’s back portico. Lucius was carrying a hamper, which he quickly set aside to take Draco into an embrace as the younger man greeted him at the open door.

“Father, I’m so glad to see you,” Draco said, an unmistakable quiver in his voice.

“And I, you, Son,” Lucius replied, tightening the embrace and adding a kiss on his boy’s forehead. Knowing what was happening back at St. Mungo’s had upped the ante on emotional output, and Lucius felt like he was struggling to hold back tears. Since he could count on three fingers the number of times he’d wept in the last thirty years, it would be inadvisable to show that level of emotion to his son now. He cleared his throat and grasped the back of Draco’s neck. “Now, let’s see about solving your problem. Bring that hamper in, won’t you?”

Draco stepped out of his father’s path and allowed him entry into the mudroom that connected the portico to the kitchen. He lifted the deceptively heavy hamper from where Lucius had set it down and moved it inside the back door, closing it behind him with a light kick. He walked through the kitchen to join his father who had moved into the sitting room and was staring wordlessly into the fire.

“Is everything all right, Father?” Draco inquired, seeing the man’s distracted countenance.

“Hmmm? Oh, yes, Draco. Everything’s fine. Just feeling a bit travel-weary. International Portkeys have always taken a lot out of me,” Lucius assured him.

Having no evidence to the contrary, Draco accepted his father’s explanation and offered him a refreshment after his trip. “Can I make a cup of tea for you, Father? Or perhaps a butterbeer? I’m sorry, but I don’t have any firewhisky.”

“Don’t forget, Draco, it’s only about seven-thirty in the morning for me. Just a touch early for libations, don’t you think?” he teased. “A cup of tea would be lovely, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“None at all. Just give me a moment and I’ll set a kettle to boil,” he stated, leaving his father alone once more.

Lucius was horribly tempted to place a quick call while his son was occupied, but had no confidence that he’d be able to complete his business before his son returned. He felt fairly sure that Miss Granger would only have been at St. Mungo’s for a very short time; it might be hours more before the baby was delivered. He’d wait.

A few moments later, Draco returned with a tray laden with a china pot filled with near-boiling water and just the right amount of Earl Grey tea leaves, two earthenware mugs, and a small pitcher of milk. Neither Malfoy man took sugar in their brew. He’d found a small tin of biscuits to offer and had divided them up equally on two small plates.

“I’m sorry, Father, but I don’t really have a great selection of continental breakfast items on hand. I don’t get paid until the day after tomorrow, so I’ll not make a trip to the market until then,” he explained, embarrassed that he didn’t have more to offer.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Draco. I’ve already had breakfast anyway, so I’m perfectly satisfied with just a lovely cup of tea. By the way, your mother sent along a number of treats for you in the hamper I asked you to retrieve. We obtained permission to give you a small selection of English delicacies that you might find it difficult to procure here in Salem. We do hope you’ll enjoy it as a little reminder of home.”

“Oh, thank you, Father. I wasn’t expecting anything, but I must say I’m most grateful. I do hope she included some crumpets. They are absolutely impossible to find here,” Draco noted.

“I do think that she included crumpets. I also saw a selection of scones, and at least one container of clotted cream. There is a good selection of tea blends, as well. I didn’t really dig through the package, but I’m sure you’ll find other items to your liking.”

“That’s wonderful. I’ll be sure to call her in the next day or so to give her my thanks,” Draco said.

“I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to hear from you,” Lucius started. He then remembered the excitement occurring back in Wiltshire and offered a little excuse. “I do know that she has several commitments in the next few days, so you may want to wait until the weekend to contact her directly. Of course, you are always welcome to send her a note through the Floo connection. She treasures those almost as much as the moments you can actually speak to her.”

“Well, I’ll send her a note, then call her on Sunday morning. That’s my next day off after tomorrow,” he offered.

“That sounds perfect. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled with both,” he agreed, noting mentally that it would buy them some time to ensure that things had settled down with Hermione and the baby.

Draco sipped his tea and leaned forward in his seat, looking at the floor between his feet. He wanted to ask questions about things in England, but was reluctant to probe too much. He wasn’t really certain what he wanted to know. Before he could edit himself, he blurted out a question, “How is everyone back home?”

“Everyone?”

“Uh, yes, you know, people from school, old friends. Everyone,” Draco hedged.

“ _Everyone_ is fine, I suppose,” Lucius needled, lifting a blond eyebrow in amusement. He hadn’t been born yesterday; if Draco wanted to know about someone in particular, he’d have to come out and ask.

“Good. That’s… good,” Draco replied, nodding his head in a pretty good imitation of a Muggle bobblehead doll. “How’s business?”

“Fine. We added a couple of new accounts last month.”

“Good. Glad to hear it.” Draco fell silent.

“Draco, if there’s something you want to know, you need to ask it. I’ll not be using Legilimency on you today,” Lucius stated.

The younger wizard sighed and sat back in his chair. “It annoys me that you know me so well, Father,” he groused.

“It’s easy; you’re so like your mother,” he observed, chuckling.

“Fine. I’ve been thinking a lot about Granger lately. Wondering how she was doing. Have you heard from her?”

Ooh, that was going to be a complicated answer, Lucius winced internally. “As far as I know, she’s been well. I know your mother has been in contact with her somewhat often.” That was the truth, mostly. “Is there a reason that you ask?”

Draco shrugged. “My therapist often asks me questions about how I feel about her and what happened. I think it’s because she’s the only one of my victims that I really knew, and the only attack about which I have very clear memories, at least of the aftermath. Since she comes up so often in those discussions, I wonder about her now and again,” he answered, not unreasonably.

“I suppose that’s normal.” Lucius wanted to talk about almost anything but Hermione Granger. He needed to steer this conversation away from this track quickly, but not so abruptly that it piqued his son’s curiosity. “If you like, I’ll see if I can arrange to have her contact you with a letter.” _That ought to do it._

“No! I mean, that won’t be necessary, Father. I was just a little curious.”

“Whatever you wish, Son.” _Phew, Stunner dodged._

“How long do you have before you need to go back?” Draco wondered.

“Ready to get rid of me so soon?” Lucius teased.

“Not at all, Father. I just didn’t want to create any problems.”

“I know. Don’t worry, I have about another hour before I need to be ready for the return Portkey. It will only take about five minutes to renew the systems spells. If you like, I’ll check all the wards and protections as well.”

“That would be great. I’ll be able to handle those things once I get my wand back in three months, but as you well know, I’m basically useless right now.”

“I wouldn’t say that, Draco. You’re learning some important lessons about responsibility, and maturity, and self-reliance. These will be very useful to you in life. It’s just as important, though, to know when to ask for help. You’ve done well there, too. I may not say it often, but I’m very proud of you, Draco. You will get through this, and you will build a good life for yourself someday, I’m quite certain.”

“I appreciate your confidence in me, Father, but I have a long way to go and an awful lot to learn,” Draco observed.

“Your acknowledgement of that is proof of the progress you’ve already made,” Lucius asserted.

“It’s just that… sometimes I still feel like I’m so…young in my head, but my soul feels ancient,” he explained.

Lucius didn’t really know how to respond to that statement. He could understand it, particularly knowing how much of his son’s life had been co-opted by two people with such twisted agendas. He watched the young man’s eyes, searching for something that would give him a clue to the wisdom his son needed to hear. He found pain there, and sadness, and the faintest glimmer of hope. That, he could grasp.

“The wonderful thing about being young, Draco, is that you are allowed to grow up. Your soul will wait for you to catch up, I promise. When you find more equilibrium between the two, you’ll be able to create the life you want. Don’t rush it; you’ve got two more years here, and that time will help you to heal and to grow. In many ways, it’s a great gift. My hope for you is that you’ll exploit it to its fullest.”

“I’m trying, Father. I suppose that’s the best I can do for now.”

“Of course it is. You’re working with a Healer that you trust, right?” Lucius found the confirmation he’d hoped for in Draco’s affirmative nod. “Then take full advantage of the ways he can help you. I’d hate to see the fees I’m paying him go for naught,” he needled, allowing a slight grin to appear as he cuffed his son on the shoulder.

“Trust me, Father, I’ve fully learned the lesson of not wasting anything, especially money,” Draco affirmed. He rose from his seat as his father had done.

“Let’s see to getting all the systems put to rights, then we can finish our visit. I want to be sure everything is functioning properly before I take my leave,” Lucius recommended.

“Is there somewhere in the building that you have to be in order to perform the reinforcing spells correctly?” Draco wondered.

“Not particularly, but I generally would recommend the kitchen or a bath, because it allows you to quickly confirm that everything is in order.”

“May I accompany you? I’d like to learn what the spells are so that should I need to update them at some point, I’ll be able,” Draco noted.

“Certainly. But it’s unlikely that you’ll need to do anything during your remaining time here. Most of these systems spells last for up to ten years. It’s apparently been that long since this property was used, that’s why they failed you.”

“Still, I’d like to learn. You never know where else the knowledge might be useful.”

“Quite so,” Lucius agreed. “Let’s get to the kitchen and get you set to rights.”

Ten minutes and seven spells later, Draco thanked his father for both his assistance and his instruction. The time had come, however, for Lucius to leave. His Portkey would activate in less than five minutes.

“It was so good to see you, Father, even for such a brief time. It can get a little lonesome here,” he noted.

“I’m sure that’s true, and your mother and I miss you as well. Let’s be certain to continue calling each other through the Floo, even if it’s only a five-minute conversation. I know it sets your mother’s mind easy, and I’ll confess that it does me no harm, either,” he admitted, squeezing his son’s shoulders affectionately. “We’ll both see you in just a couple of weeks. I know your mother is most anxious to see you again. Don’t be surprised if she doesn’t release you from her embrace for an hour or two.”

“I’d welcome it, Father. I look forward to your visit.” He hesitated a moment before speaking again. “If you do happen to see Miss Granger, please do tell her that I was asking after her health, and that I wish her well.”

“I’ll be sure to do that for you, Draco. I’m sure she’ll appreciate that you were considering her.” Lucius checked his pocket watch; he had less than a minute before the Portkey would whisk him away. “It’s time, Draco. I’ll speak with you no later than tomorrow.”

Draco raised his hand in farewell, and watched as his father disappeared before his eyes. Turning back into the cottage, he headed to the bathroom to finally take the hot shower he’d been craving. As he looked at the grandfather clock in the hallway, he noted that it was nearly three in the morning. It had been a very long day; he had no doubt that he’d be sleeping in well past noon.


	3. Confrontations

_**Malfoy Manor – On the day of Draco’s return** _

_Previously –_

_Hermione stepped toward Narcissa, reaching out her arms to relieve the older witch of her burden and enfold her daughter in a comforting hug. She whispered something into Louisa’s ear and turned toward Draco. “This is Louisa. Louisa Granger Malfoy. As I’m sure you’ve figured out, she is your daughter. I’d hoped to tell you more gently than this, but that can’t be changed now. I’m sorry.”_

_Draco nodded his head sharply, acknowledging Hermione’s words. He never took his eyes off the little girl who seemed to be staring at him as intently as he was at her. He listened as Hermione spoke again._

_“Louisa, do you remember the pictures I showed you, the ones of the man I told you was away for a long time?” When the little girl nodded shyly, Hermione continued, “This is the man in the pictures. He is your Papa.”_

_Draco’s hand reached out of its own volition toward the little girl’s cheek and a long, thin finger trailed along its pudgy contour. “Louisa,” he whispered._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco straightened his spine and shook himself from the stupor that had overtaken him upon learning the stunning news that he’d fathered this angelic child. There were so many layers to deal with; he had no clue where to begin. He had a hundred questions for the three other adults in the room. Drawing upon the lessons he’d learned with Dr. Roy, he resolved to take things one step at a time. Gain some control of yourself and the situation, he thought.

He made eye contact with Granger first. She seemed to be the logical place to begin. “Mother, Father, would you please take Louisa and give Miss Granger and me a few moments alone?” It was phrased as a question, but there was no doubt that it was a demand.

Narcissa seemed reluctant to leave the two young people alone. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust her son, not at all. She had become very fond and protective of Hermione in the last three years, though, and thought of her as one of her own. She would do anything to save either of these young people from pain, and it was clear that heartache would be felt today. A nudge from Lucius as he reached for the child in her mother’s arms helped her to acquiesce to Draco’s request. She nodded and left the room with her husband and grandchild. It took all of her will not to glance back at the room’s remaining occupants as she departed.

Hermione started, “Draco, I…”

“Don’t! Please, don’t say a word,” Draco pleaded with her, hands upraised as if to physically restrain her from uttering another sound. He needed a moment to formulate questions for this woman. There was so much that he wanted – no, needed - to know. Before his brain could fully engage, his mouth formed a single word. “Why?”

“That’s a very broad question, Draco. Why, what? Why did I have her? Why did I keep her? Why am I living here at the Manor? Why did we hide her from you? Truth be told, those are the same questions I’ve asked myself a thousand times. So what do you want to know first?”

He pivoted on his heel, turning away from her, wiping a hand over his face to try to contain the shock and anger and frustration he felt within him, if just for a moment. “All of it. I need to know everything.” His voice sounded low and contained, under careful control.

“Please, Draco, you have to know that nothing we did was meant to hurt you. We did it to protect you, so that you cou…”

“No! Don’t you understand? This… she… the only thing I’ve ever…kept from me…” His voice trailed off as he was unable to complete his thought.

“Draco, you’re making no sense. I don’t understand.”

“No, I guess you wouldn’t,” he spat back at her. “I’ve spent the last three years alone and isolated, except for the little bit of contact with my mother and father. If it weren’t for Dr. Roy, I’d have had no one. But you were all here playing house, having a grand old time, with my daughter!”

“It wasn’t like that, Draco.”

“No? What was it like then, Granger? Tell me, what were the last three years for you?” Draco demanded.

“Can we please take a breath, Draco? I’ll tell you everything, from the beginning. I promise. I know you’re furious and upset, and you have every right to be, but we’re getting nowhere if we just keep shouting at each other.”

Unable to refute her logic, Draco forced himself to drop the tension in his shoulders and to breathe deeply. “Fine. Explain away,” he invited, with no small hint of sarcasm. He dropped into a chair and watched as Hermione took up pacing.

“It all began just a couple of weeks after your trial. I’d been feeling poorly and attributed it to the stress of my injuries and thought maybe I’d caught the flu while we were at the cottage. I went to the Healer, and she told me that I was about one month pregnant. I hadn’t, uh, been with anyone else in quite a long time, so I knew that the pregnancy had to have been from what happened, uh, in the dungeons.”

Draco dropped his head into his hands. “Oh Merlin, I remember being afraid of that when I was tending to your injuries. With everything else that was going on, I completely forgot to discuss it with you.”

“Draco, we were fighting for survival. At least you had the presence of mind to think of it at all; I surely didn’t. Regardless, it happened.”

“But why?” he interrupted. “Why didn’t you just terminate the pregnancy? It’s a relatively simple thing to do in the Wizarding world.”

Hermione had known for years that this, of all the things she had to explain to him, would be the most difficult. “I couldn’t, Draco. I was raised to believe in the sanctity of all life, and that life begins at the moment of conception. In my faith, it would have been murder, and with all the death that I’ve seen, I couldn’t contribute to another.”

“I don’t understand; you’ve killed people in battle. This pregnancy was the result of an act of war.”

“No,” she asserted, shaking her head. “Anyone I killed in the war was a specific act of self-defense. It’s one of the reasons I spent so much time doing research. I had no stomach for going into battle and purposely killing anyone, regardless of how evil they may have been. I was thankful every minute that I had been blessed with enough of a brain that I was more useful where I was than on the battlefield.”

“So you decided not to abort the pregnancy because of the religious beliefs with which you were raised,” Draco summarized, trying to get his head around what she’d told him.

“That was the major factor, but there were other things that drove my decision,” Hermione admitted.

“Like what?” he wondered.

“My entire family was murdered in the war. I had no one left, except an elderly third cousin whom I’ve never met. The thought of a new life didn’t seem as horrible as being totally alone.”

“What about your friends? Potter and Weasley?”

“As much as we all love each other, they are my friends, not my family. Harry took many months to recover, and he’s started to build a new life of his own. Ron and I, after everything that happened between us after he recovered from his injuries a couple of years ago, were never the same. I’ll always treasure the friendship we had when we were kids, but we’ll never be that close again.”

“But the child was a product of me raping you, Granger. How could you possibly want that as a reminder of what happened?”

“I struggled with that a bit at first, but I chose to look at it another way. By the time that you and I parted company, I’d come to see that you were not the person we all assumed you to be. There was a better than even chance that you were a decent man under all that influence. When I saw what your parents had done to get you free of the potions, and how they had contributed at great personal peril to the war effort, I knew that there was capacity for good things to come from Malfoys.”

“Okay, so I get that you didn’t want to abort the pregnancy and that you thought the child wouldn’t automatically become demon spawn. Why didn’t you give it up for adoption?”

“Because your parents convinced me to keep the baby as my own.”

“Why would they do that?”

“They told me, and I believed them, that they wanted me and the child to become de facto members of the family. It felt like everything that had been taken away from me in the war was being restored, in some small way. They were so kind to me and so welcoming, that I grew very fond of them, and I think them of me.”

“This is all so hard to comprehend,” Draco whispered, mostly to himself. “I’ve fathered a daughter.”

“How do you feel about that, Draco?”

“Well, Healer Granger, I’m too shocked to know for sure. I can tell you that I’m not angry about the fact that she exists; that’s not it at all. I would have assumed that you would be angry that it had happened. I’m humiliated and horrified that I put you in the position to have to make those decisions. I’m confused and wary. What I am angry about is that this was kept from me for three years. You still have a lot of explaining to do about that, as do my parents, Granger.”

“How did you know I’ve become a Healer?” Hermione wondered, forestalling the discussion of her deception for a few moments.

His eyes went wide. “I didn’t. I was being sarcastic. You sounded so much like my therapist.”

“There’s a good reason for that. I’ve studied to become a Mind Healer, partly because of everything that happened to you and the trauma you suffered as a result.”

“Well, like everything else you take on, I’m sure you’ll be wildly successful,” Draco offered. “But that still doesn’t answer my other question. Why did you keep this from me?”

Hermione sighed. She’d been second-guessing that decision quite a lot lately, especially in the last six months as Draco’s release date approached. “That was entirely my doing. You can’t blame your parents at all. I forced them to make an Unbreakable Vow not to reveal anything to you about Louisa until I was ready. They tried to convince me on a daily basis to reconsider, so any blame you wish to dole out can rest squarely at my feet.”

“Fine. I’ll blame you. Now, why did you do it?” he insisted.

“I had several reasons. First, I didn’t want you to feel any worse than you already did about what you had done to me. Me getting pregnant was a result of what you did, but it wasn’t done intentionally, or as part of the attempt to hurt me. You were so fragile back then, that I just couldn’t imagine or support putting any more pressure on you than you were already shouldering.”

“Well, I can appreciate the sentiment, Granger, but who the hell said it was your decision to make?”

“That’s a fair question, Draco. Your parents argued against it pretty vociferously, but the fact is that I sort of twisted their arms to get them to agree to it.”

“And what leverage did you have?”

“I told them that I wouldn’t let them see the baby, or be involved in its life if they told you before I was ready for you to know,” she recounted, her furious blush a clear indication of her embarrassment when she heard herself say it aloud.

“Emotional blackmail, then,” Draco summarized.

“I guess you could put it that way,” she reluctantly agreed.

He surprised her with a hearty laugh. “You might have made a passable Slytherin after all, Granger.”

She managed a hint of a grin in response. “I’m sure you mean that as a compliment.”

“Well, let’s just say that I can appreciate what the thought process was, if not its result. I get that you wouldn’t have wanted me to know early on, but what about later, after she was born? Why not tell me then?” he asked, annoyance creeping back into his tone.

“The truth is that the longer I went without telling you, the harder it was to figure out how to do it. It then got easier to stick my head in the sand and push it off until there was no choice. As I said before, your parents tried constantly to get me to tell you, and I always refused. In the last few months, I confess that I’d begun to question my decision, but by that point I was stuck in the lie.”

“Why did you begin to regret it?” he wondered.

“She’s grown so quickly. I started to realize how much of her life you were missing, and I felt guilty about keeping it back from you. But every time I felt that, I told myself that you probably wouldn’t want anything to do with her. After all, I was her mother and she’s not a pureblood child. You didn’t conceive her with me on purpose.”

“You really think that I’d reject my own child because of her blood status?” he asked, incredulous.

Hermione shrugged. “It used to be all-important to you. While your parents had had a change of heart, your views were unknown. You’d been so indoctrinated by what the Lestranges did to you that I had no idea what you’d really think. I remembered something that you said while we were at the cottage about not understanding the violence based on blood, but that didn’t mean that you would want to actually produce a child that wasn’t a pureblood.”

“Don’t you think that it might have been logical to ask?”

“Again, I knew you were struggling with your own recovery. I didn’t want to place additional burdens on you. We were doing as well as we could, and your parents have been wonderful with Louisa. She’s not wanted for anything, including love and affection from her grandparents. Plus, there were the terms of your sentence to consider.”

“That’s a cop-out, Granger. The terms were that I couldn’t initiate contact with anyone in Great Britain except my parents and my solicitor. That didn’t mean that someone couldn’t initiate contact with me, and you certainly knew how to reach me,” he pointed out angrily.

“I know, and the two or three times that you asked after my well-being through your father complicated matters for me. If I had contacted you, it would have been nearly impossible to keep the promises I made to myself about not creating additional burden for you. I know you’d have seen right through any façade I’d have erected. So instead, I asked him to relay vague and impersonal responses just indicating that I was doing well.”

“Sorry, Granger, but you blew it,” Draco stated.

“I know I’ve made mistakes, Draco, but I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

He sighed and scrubbed both hands against his face. “I think you were probably right not to tell me in the first few months. I was pretty fragile then, and I’m not sure I could have coped with the guilt of doing that to you. But later on, I was stronger. I was looking for things around which I could start to build my life. Knowing that she was there - a part of me that wasn’t a horror - that might have given me something more to cling to. It might have helped me to get stronger, faster,” he postulated. “I told my therapist that the one thing that I wanted that I thought I would never have is a family of my own.”

Hermione swallowed thickly. She was deeply torn about how to answer him. If his expectation was that the three of them would ride off into the sunset together, he was sadly mistaken. She wouldn’t deny him a relationship with Louisa; she’d committed to that in her heart as well as to his parents. She was also not going to allow him to steamroll her. Louisa’s home would always be with her mother, regardless of how guilty she felt about denying Draco access to her in her infancy.

“Draco, I don’t know what your expectations are about having a family, but Louisa and I will not be separated.”

He glared at her. “Do you honestly think that I would do that to her, or to you? I don’t care how angry and frustrated I am, Granger, I’m not that cruel. What I want, and looking at things now, she will be the only family I’m ever likely to have, is to get to know her. I want her to know that I’m her father, and that I’ll look after her to the best of my ability. She is legally the Malfoy heir by virtue of my father consenting to her carrying our family name, and someday she’ll inherit the entire family holdings. There is enormous responsibility in that, in case Father hasn’t told you. You and I will always have a very complicated relationship, Granger, and I hope that we can be civil with each other. The fact is that we’re not going to have much choice but to be connected through her for the rest of our lives,” Draco concluded.

“Merlin, I never thought of it that way,” she breathed.

“Thought of what?”

“Her being the Malfoy heir. Your father didn’t _consent_ to her carrying the family name; he insisted on it. I allowed him to set up a trust fund for her, but I had no idea of the broader implications of that.”

“Knowing my father, he meant it to be that way. He may have switched sides in the war, Granger, but he’s a Slytherin through and through. It wouldn’t surprise me that there are a few other legal arrangements about which you know little or nothing.”

“What kind of legal arrangements?”

“Inheritances, mostly. Property transfers, stipulations upon his death, my death, or yours about her custody. I’d be relatively certain that he’s got a trust fund for you somewhere too.”

“Wouldn’t I have had to sign something to allow those kinds of things to happen?” A slight note of panic could be heard in Hermione’s voice.

“No. Not if she’s designated as my heir, which he has the right to do as the current Lord Malfoy.”

“I had no idea…”

“I can’t say that I’m surprised to hear that. I’m sure that he wouldn’t have done any of it maliciously; he would look at it as protecting the family legacy.”

“You said something about custody and my death. What would that mean?”

“I’m sure that he would have arranged for guardianship if something were to happen to you.”

“Even if I’d already designated someone to take care of her?”

“Have you?”

“Well, no, not other than her traditional godparents, but it never occurred to me that she would be cared for by anyone other than your parents if something were to happen to me before she reached the age of majority. Who else would he have designated?”

“Me.”

“Why would that even be necessary, if you are named on her birth certificate as her father?”

“Because you and I are not married. If a child is born out of wedlock in the Wizarding world, it is assumed that the father rejects paternity unless he specifically claims it. Wizarding law is a little different than Muggle law, I’d wager.”

“Oh gods, that’s why…” she whispered, gasping at the realization that had struck her like a ton of bricks.

“Why, what?”

“That’s why your father, in particular, was so resistant to keeping this from you. He wanted you to claim paternity of Louisa. I wish he’d explained this to me; I had no idea.”

“Nailed it in one, Granger,” Draco drawled.

She’d been hanging around Malfoys for a while, and had learned the look. Her raised eyebrow almost surprised him. “You’ve been in America for too long.”

“So where do we go from here?” Draco wondered aloud.

“I don’t know, Draco, but it seems clear that we’re going to have to learn how to cooperate if we hope to raise Louisa without killing each other.”

“My murdering instincts have been completely obliterated, Granger. I’m no danger to you, or to anyone else,” he said, sounding affronted.

“I don’t mean literally, you prat. We’ve got a lot of history, very little of it positive. It won’t be easy for us to put that aside, particularly if we disagree on something about how Louisa is raised.”

“You’ve been living here at the Manor?” he surmised.

“Yes, since the beginning of my pregnancy, actually.”

“Well, you should stay.”

“No, I can’t do that. It would be too awkward living here with you.”

“Who says I’m going to live here?”

“Well, I just assumed…”

“You know what they say about people who assume, Granger. I’ve been living on my own for three years. I’ve developed a sense of independence that would be greatly compromised if I moved back into my parents’ home. I plan to live somewhere other than Malfoy Manor.”

“Do you parents know that?”

“Well, I haven’t been blunt about it, but I’ve hinted often enough that they should have figured it out. They aren’t fools.”

“Maybe that’s why your mother has been so insistent that I don’t move out,” Hermione observed.

“What did I tell you? They’re Slytherins, always manipulating, even if they have your best interests at heart,” he noted.

“So, have we reached an understanding?” Hermione probed.

Draco was the one to sigh now. “I’m still angry with you, but I can’t say that I don’t understand what you did and why you did it. I wish you’d made different choices, but I’ve made some pretty horrible ones myself, so I can’t condemn you for that. If I hang on to the anger, it will only hurt me in the long run, and it won’t help Louisa. You’ve told me that you forgave me for what I did to you three years ago. What you did wasn’t violent or life-threatening, but I am hurt by it. How could I not forgive you, though, after everything you did to spare my life when you could have just as easily condemned me to a Kiss?”

“I can’t ask for more than that. What do we do now?”

“We have many decisions to make, Granger.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

In Louisa’s playroom, surrounded by enough stuffed animals, puzzles, and books to supply an entire nursery school, her grandparents watched the child play while trying to mask their anxiety over what was happening in the study two floors below them.

They spoke rapidly in French in an effort to shield Louisa from their concern. “Well, did he say anything to you before we arrived?” Narcissa demanded to know.

“There wasn’t time for him to say much, save to ask if I was party to the deception,” Lucius observed.

“And how could he think otherwise? When have you and I truly hid anything from each other, apart from when we were briefly estranged at the beginning of the war? He couldn’t have believed that Hermione and I had kept this from you,” she asserted.

“No, I’m quite certain he didn’t believe that. I think he just wanted to confirm who would hold which place on his hit list,” Lucius stated, using a bit of black humor to defuse some of the tension.

“Well, you must know that Hermione would not throw us to the wolves. You know her as well as I do, and she will attempt to shoulder all of the blame for this debacle.”

“Which is only right, considering the circumstances,” he challenged.

“Lucius, that’s not fair and you know it,” Narcissa argued. “We didn’t have to agree to her terms, but we did, and we understood what she was asking us to do. We should share in the blame.”

“What do you think they’re talking about?” he wondered, trying to change the subject from the burden of guilt.

“I’d wager that they have numerous things to discuss. She bore his child. If I know my son as well as I think I do, that will mean something to him. You saw the way he looked at Louisa; he’s already connecting to her.”

“I know. I saw the way he touched her, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. He’ll be angry, of that there is no doubt,” Lucius said.

Narcissa glanced at her granddaughter as the child set a doll to ride atop one of her many toy unicorns. “And hurt. You know how he’s talked about wanting a family someday. Louisa is the embodiment of all his dreams, come true.”

“I still think it was a mistake to withhold all of that from Hermione. If she’d understood what he was thinking and feeling, we might have been able to convince her to tell him about the girl.”

She shook her head. “First, it was not our story to tell, and second, she probably wouldn’t have believed us. She’d have thought we were trying to place more pressure on her to release us from the Vow. Every other attempt that we made turned out rather poorly, didn’t it?”

“True enough, but I still think it would have made her think twice before holding this news until his return.”

“Lucius, this is not worth discussing. What’s done is done. We’re all going to need to cope with the fallout, and I’ve no doubt that it will be substantial.”

“You don’t think he’d refuse to acknowledge Louisa, do you?” the doting grandfather wondered.

“I can’t imagine that he would. What purpose would it serve? You’ve already ensured that she’s legally named as his heir.”

“There are ways around that, as he will no doubt discover,” Lucius warned.

“While I hate to say it, I think the conditions required for that to happen are unlikely to occur. He’s not wrong in his assumptions that not everyone in Wizarding Great Britain will welcome him back with open arms. The old families look at him as damaged, tainted goods, and the new guard doesn’t entirely trust that, even if he was under compulsions, he isn’t a Dark side sympathizer. He’ll have a long road to travel before people trust him and his motives, I fear.”

“I recognize that the likelihood of Draco making a traditional Wizarding match is rather remote, and that the birth of a legitimate male heir is an even more unlikely probability. But those conditions could be met.”

“And you want to ensure that they don’t, I assume?” Narcissa confirmed.

“Yes. There are a couple of…” Lucius trailed off as the nursery’s double doors swung open to reveal his son and his granddaughter’s mother, standing side by side.

“Mother, Father,” Draco acknowledged his parents; “Miss Granger and I have reached some decisions about how we’re to proceed, given the circumstances. There are a few things you need to know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that Hermione's views on why she chose to have the baby may or may not have any resemblance to the author's views on the subject. This was a deliberate plot necessity, nothing more, nothing less. To avoid any anxiety on the subject, you may assume that the author's views match your own exactly, whatever they happen to be. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.


	4. Dreams

Winters on the north shore of Massachusetts were unlike anything Draco had every experienced. Certainly, there had been snowstorms in England, and more frequently in Scotland while he’d been at Hogwarts, but not the relentless, constant barrage of storm after storm, some of them measured in feet rather than inches. The brutally cold temperatures and constant biting winds had taken their toll on his mood, making it as grey and dull as the winter sky.

“Draco, you seem terribly distracted today. What’s on your mind?” Dr. Roy pressed, watching the young man who stared out the window as yet more fluffy white flakes piled up on the Boston Commons.

He shrugged in response. “I haven’t spoken with my parents in a few days, and I’ve been feeling a little lonesome,” he confessed.

“I thought you spoke with them nearly every day. Is there a reason you’ve not been in contact recently?”

“Not that I’m aware. We just seem to be missing each other, I guess.”

“Tell me more about why you’re feeling lonesome, Draco.”

“Other than you and my parents, I don’t really have anyone that I talk with regularly,” Draco admitted.

“What about the people you work with?”

“They’re nice enough, but they all have their own friends and families. Not much time for the transplanted Brit, I’d say.”

“So you’re telling me that you still haven’t developed any relationships beyond strictly professional ones with your co-workers,” he summarized. “How about neighbors? People at the gym? Patrons from the restaurant?”

Draco shook his head in denial at each category. “I’ve never met any neighbors. I don’t go to the gym. Most of the customers at the restaurant are tourists, so they’re here for a very short time.”

“Then I can understand why you’re feeling lonely,” Dr. Roy commented. “Why have you never mentioned this isolation before, Draco?”

“I hadn’t really given it a lot of thought. It only started to hit me when I hadn’t spoken with my parents for a bit, that I really didn’t have anyone else to talk to.”

“Have you ever gone out to a local club or bar on the weekend, just to meet people?”

“No, I’m usually working on the weekend, and by the time I’m done, I’m just too exhausted to go out.”

“Draco, you’re only twenty-one years old. Most young men your age get by on five or six hours of sleep a night.”

“I guess I’m not most young men, then,” Draco responded, irritated at being compared to the drunks he saw stumbling around town as he made his way home late at night.

“Well, you’re not wrong there. Tell me why you find the prospect of going out to clubs so… unappealing?”

Draco started pacing, expending his excess energy in the only way he could at the moment. “Doc, I feel like I’m damaged goods. I have so little in common with the people I meet. I grew up with privilege, but turned out to be nothing more than a callous murderer and rapist. Half the people back home think of me as a war criminal, and the other half think I was so weak that my so-called cooperation with the Dark Lord had to be ‘guided’ with the use of spells and potions. I can’t please anyone with either who I was or who I really am. Why should I try?” Draco wondered, sounding horribly defeated.

“Why is others’ perception and acceptance of you so important to you?”

Draco swallowed hard. This man liked to ask brutally difficult questions, and he was feeling vulnerable and pressured.

“No editing, Draco. Quickly, now. Why is others’ perception and acceptance of you so important?”

“Because I’m not happy with how I see myself,” Draco blurted out before he could stop himself.

David Roy rose from his seat and approached Draco, grasping both of the younger man’s shoulders as he forced him to meet his steady, confident gaze. “Draco, you’re letting yourself be victimized again. This guilt is consuming you, and you’re allowing yourself to be dragged further down when you have a minor setback or disappointment. You need to push past this and find ways to connect to other people before you sink so far down that you won’t be able to crawl out of the hole.” The therapist paused for a moment. “Have you had a date since you got here?” he wondered. They’d skimmed the topic of his sexual experience a couple of times in the context of other issues, but it was time to dig a little deeper.

“A date? You mean like with a girl or something?”

If he weren’t so professional, he might have laughed in response at the stunned look on the young man’s face. “Or something? Are you gay, Draco? Is that a source of anxiety that we haven’t discussed. I’m sorry if I’ve …”

He stopped the man with an upraised hand before he could say anymore, spluttering and turning completely red. “Merlin, no! I’m most definitely not gay. Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” he amended.

“Fine. So you’re not gay. Why haven’t you seen any young ladies?”

“I’m… afraid,” Draco admitted.

“Of what?”

“That what I did to so many of them is who I am at the core.”

“Draco, my role as a therapist is to force you to look at your own thoughts, perceptions, motivations, and actions. Rarely do I give specific answers or point patients in a particular direction. I’m going to make a small exception here, because what I just heard you say is astounding. Hear this, and hear it loud and clear: Draco Malfoy is not a rapist. Draco Malfoy is not a murderer. Draco Malfoy is a decent young man who was forced to do things about which he was thoroughly unaware and unaccountable. You need this to be your new affirmation, because if you can’t get past this fundamental belief, there will be little more that I can do to help you.”

Draco sat in the black leather chair that he typically favored and ran his hands through his hair, tugging lightly in frustration. “Why can’t I get it out of my head, Doc? It haunts me every night. I dream about it constantly.”

“You’ve been holding out on me, Draco. That’s not going to help you. Tell me,” he scolded.

“I still can’t remember exactly what I did to her, but I’ll never forget the aftermath. There was so much blood, and I thought she was dead. I didn’t know why I’d done what I had, but I knew that I was responsible. She looked so small, so frail. The things that I had to do to make sure she survived were nearly as intrusive and unforgivable as what I did to get her into that condition. And at the end of it all, she was so kind to me. She seemed more concerned about me than she was about herself, and I’ve never seen that happen before. I see her in my dreams every night,” he finished, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“We are talking about Miss Granger, correct?”

Draco nodded in confirmation.

“Every week I ask you the same question, Draco. What is that question?”

“It’s ‘How do you feel about Miss Granger today?’” he parroted.

“That’s right. And how do you usually answer me?”

“I usually tell you that I’m grateful for what she did for me, that I admire her strength, and that I wish I could make it up to her somehow.”

“That’s right, or some minor variation on those themes, correct?”

“Yes.”

“The fact is, you’ve never really answered my question. You tell me how you feel _in relation to_ Miss Granger, but never how you feel _about_ her. Why do you think that is?”

Draco had been in therapy just long enough to really understand the distinction that his counselor was making. It struck him like a wayward Bludger. “I…”

“You will never be able to answer the question about her until you resolve your own feelings about what happened, Draco, and you’re still wallowing in the guilt. You’ve told me that she forgave you and that you respected that she gave that forgiveness of her own free will. It seems to me that there’s something a little more complex going on here than a simple matter of guilt and forgiveness. Why are you so conflicted about this young woman?”

“Because she’s living, breathing proof that everything I thought I knew what dead wrong.”

“And her existence makes yours… what?”

“A joke,” Draco spat bitterly.

“Bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said ‘bullshit.’ I think you’ve been here long enough to be familiar with the term.”

“We use it in England too, you know. How is what I said not valid?”

“So the fact that she’s smart, and capable, and magically powerful, and her blood is just as red as yours makes your life not… serious?”

“It means that everything I lived for five years, whether or not I was fully aware of what I was doing, could be thoroughly disproved with one example. How many others were there, who met the same criteria? How many people died for nothing more than bigotry?”

“I’m sure the number is both staggering and appalling, but it doesn’t answer the question about you. What does answer the question about you is the fact that you are now questioning – quite vigorously, in fact – the validity of things you were raised to believe and manipulated into acting upon. You have learned some incredibly powerful lessons, sadly at great cost, but you have recognized the folly and fallacy of bigotry. Some people never get there in their entire lives. We still deal with it here in the States constantly with racial discrimination. It’s fundamentally no different than purebloods who shut Muggleborns and Half-bloods out of power roles in the Wizarding world.”

“So you think it means that I’ve made progress because I recognize that Granger is smart, capable, powerful and attractive.” Draco gasped as he realized what he’d said. The gasp, of course, drew Dr. Roy’s attention to his words even further.

“You’ve never said that before.”

“What?” he hedged, hoping that the doctor noticed something else.

“That you thought she was attractive. Why do you think that came up now?”

“Ah, fuck. I don’t know.”

“And what if you did know?” The cheeky bugger had the audacity to chuckle. He knew how Draco hated it when he pulled that one out of the proverbial hat.

“You know how to push my buttons, don’t you?” Draco complained. “Look, she’s a very pretty girl. She’s also the last woman I had any contact with.”

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean, Draco. Could you be more specific?”

“I’d rather not.” Draco lifted his right brow in a gesture that had often intimidated his Slytherin housemates into submission. He should have known it wouldn’t work very well with Dr. Roy.

The therapist lifted a brow right back at him. “Humor me.”

“You are determined to humiliate me, aren’t you? She was really good at that.”

“No. If you want me to help you, I need to understand what’s going on in there.” He reached over and tapped the side of Draco’s head.

“Argghh. The last time I truly remember being, uh, sexual with a girl was when I was fifteen years old. I know intellectually that I’ve had… relations with more women than I could count, but I don’t remember any of them, and they were not consensual in nature. The last time I really felt any kind of normal arousal was just before Granger and I were rescued from the cottage, and I, uh, took advantage of it.”

“With her?”

“No. Alone.”

“Ah. I see.” Dr. Roy was silent for a moment; he seemed to be debating where to take the conversation next. His decision made, he cleared his throat once and asked another question. “Has that been a recurrent theme?”

“Not voluntarily. As I said earlier, I dream about her every night.”

“Are all of those dreams the same, or do they have different patterns?”

“My dreams are of three or four different types. Some are about the conversations we had in the cottage. Some are about my trial and how she spoke for me. Some are about the aftermath of the attack, or what I imagine the attack was like. The final type is about being aroused by her.”

“By her? As in, she’s touching you in some way?”

“No, well, yes. Sometimes. It’s more often me as a voyeur.”

“You on the outside, looking in, so to speak.”

“Yes.”

“Draco, I know this will be an embarrassing question, but you need to be honest with me about this. It’s important. Do you ever get aroused by anyone else, or any other kind of sexual stimulus?”

“Rarely.”

“How often do you masturbate?”

“What?”

“How often?”

“Rarely. If I have a climax, it’s usually as the result of a dream.”

“What does ‘rarely’ mean? Once a week? Once a month?”

“Intentionally self-pleasuring? Maybe three or four times since I’ve been here in Salem. That’s about ten or eleven months, I guess.”

“Do you have morning erections?” Dr. Roy asked, deliberately using his most professional, clinical tone.

“Yes.”

“Every day?”

“Yes.”

“What do you do about them?”

“Nothing. I let them fade.”

“Always?”

“Just about.”

“What constitutes the difference between when you let them fade and when you do something about it?”

“If it’s painful to leave it.”

“And what causes that?”

“That usually happens if I’ve had an intense dream, but awakened before I’ve had a release.”

“Okay. Draco, have you ever had a relationship with a girl that included sexual intimacy?”

“Once, during the summer I turned sixteen.”

“How long did that relationship last?”

“A couple of weeks.”

“Your first? Lots of exploration, but not lots of emotional connection, correct?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve never made love.”

“No. The truth is that other than playing around with that girl, I’ve never had intercourse that wasn’t forced,” he admitted with regret and shame.

“How do you feel about that?”

“How do you think I feel?” Draco growled. “I’m a despicable excuse for a man.”

“No, Draco, that’s not true. What is true, however, is that your sexual experience and responses have been badly compromised.”

“No shit, doc.”

“I have a recommendation that I’d like you to consider.”

“I’m all ears.”

“I’d like you to see a sex therapist in conjunction with your work with me.”

Draco’s expression was unreadable. He adopted a blank gaze as a defense mechanism and waited for the doctor to say more.

“You’re not giving me much to work with here, Draco. How do you feel about that?”

“I don’t know. What would that entail? And why do you recommend seeing a separate counselor?”

“I’ll take your last question first. Sex therapy is a very specific discipline that helps patients work out their problems with sexual perception and function. While all psychotherapists are trained in the fundamentals, there are times when a more in-depth approach is needed. A healthy sex life is as important as a healthy circulatory system; it’s one of life’s basic needs, along with eating and sleeping. If someone is not functioning well sexually, there are numerous repercussions, including clinical depression, physical ailments, and sleep disturbances. What it entails is mostly conversations like we have, but there are sometimes other strategies employed, similar to some of the homework I’ve asked you to do, except focused on your sexual responses.”

“Why do you think I need a sex therapist?”

“What you’ve described to me is not normal sexual function for a man of your age. We would likely classify you as a victim of sexual trauma or abuse because of the way you were manipulated. You’ve never learned how to build a healthy relationship with a partner that includes physical intimacy. The teenage years and early twenties are the time that most young people learn what works and what doesn’t, both in terms of the physical and the emotional. You were robbed of that opportunity, so your sexual development was effectively halted at the young age of sixteen. The good news is that you are absolutely young enough and psychologically stable enough to ‘catch up’ to your age peers, and probably within a relatively short period. It helps that you are intelligent and curious.”

“That all sounds logical and appropriate, but I don’t know any sex therapists, and I, uh, don’t know how I’d pay for additional treatment,” Draco admitted reluctantly. “I can’t imagine that the Ministry would approve payments so that I can have a healthy sex life.”

Dr. Roy smiled slightly; he’d clearly been thinking about this and had a solution to offer. “As it happens, I know a fabulous sex therapist, and don’t worry about the money. We’ll work something out.”

“Who is this therapist?”

“Dr. Kathryn Roy, a lovely lady, a capable witch, and my beautiful wife.”

Draco’s eyes widened. “You are married to a sex therapist? That must make life interesting,” he mused.

David laughed. “You don’t know the half of it.”

“I can’t take services without paying for them, doc. It’s out of the question.”

Dr. Roy thought for a moment. “Do you like kids?”

“I haven’t had a lot of exposure to little ones, but yes, I’d say that kids are good. I mean, I’ve told you that one of my dreams is to have a family of my own someday, however unlikely that may be.”

“Let’s give this idea a run. I have two small boys, Daryl and Thomas. They are five and seven years old. It’s often challenging for my wife and I to get someone to look after them on weekend mornings when we have appointments. I know you don’t usually go to work until about noon. What would you say to hanging out with them in our home for a couple of hours on Saturday mornings in exchange for one hour of appointment time with Kathryn?”

“Are you saying that you would trust me to mind your children, with everything that you know about me?” Draco asked, incredulously.

“Yes.” His tone was unequivocal.

“Well, I’m honored that you would trust me in that way, but I have no idea what to do with two little ones.”

“They entertain themselves pretty well with their toys, so it’s just a matter of supervising to be sure they don’t hurt themselves or get into things that they shouldn’t. You can just play games with them, or read to them. They do enjoy that.”

“That doesn’t sound too complicated. But how would your wife feel about this? Shouldn’t you be sure that she’s not going to have any objections?”

“That’s a very mature and astute suggestion, Draco.” Dr. Roy stopped for a moment, apparently considering his next words carefully. “Truth be told, I’ve already discussed it with her. Since you’ve had so much difficulty in talking about and dealing with your sexual identity in the few months that we’ve been working together, I’ve been consulting with her on the best ways to approach this with you. This was her idea.”

“I see,” Draco replied, his jaw clenching.

“You seem unhappy about that. Tell me why.”

“It’s just rather uncomfortable knowing that I’ve been the topic of conversation outside these walls. I thought everything we discussed was confidential.”

“And it is. Kathryn is a partner in my practice, and our discussions were clinical consultations, not pillow talk. No professional standards have been breached or compromised, Draco.” Dr. Roy looked the young man directly in the eyes, allowing him to see his sincerity and truthfulness.

Draco sighed. “Fine. How much does she know, and when would we get started?”

“She understands the basics, but if you agree to this plan, she will have full access to your case file, and she and I will conduct an in-depth clinical review to ensure that we are managing your treatment protocols together. We would begin as soon as we can get you scheduled in her calendar, which would be within the week.”

Draco considered the therapist’s idea again and couldn’t really find any fault in it. He knew that he needed help; it wasn’t normal for a healthy young man to be so apathetic about sex. “I’ll do it.”

“Good. That’s a great decision, Draco, and in the months to come, you’ll be glad you made it.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

“I can’t believe how much she’s grown in eight weeks,” Narcissa marveled. “Her features are becoming more defined. I see quite a mixture of you and Draco in her.”

“Really? I see Draco, through and through,” Hermione commented, just a bit wistfully.

“She has his hair color and eye color, to be sure, but I think she has your nose and chin. And her hair is not at curly as yours, but Draco’s was straight as a pin, even at this age,” the new grandmother noted.

“Mmm. She is a pretty baby, isn’t she?” Hermione asked.

“She’s beautiful. And she has such a sweet disposition. I only hear her cry when she’s hungry or needs changing. Draco was like that too. Always smiling and laughing. He was easily amused,” Narcissa recalled with a grin. Her expression turned melancholy. “I do so wish he could see her now.”

“Please, Narcissa, let’s not have that discussion again today.” Hermione let out an exasperated breath.

“Hermione, I’m not trying to create any additional tension, I promise you. I just know how precious all of Draco’s milestones were to me and his father, and I’m saddened that he won’t experience them with Louisa.”

The younger witch sighed. Narcissa did have a point. There was no way she’d burden Draco with this infant now, but it was certainly possible that at some time in the distant future, he might want to know what his daughter had been like as she grew. Before she could over-think her split second decision, Hermione made an offer, one she was sure that Narcissa would not refuse. “What if we were to carefully catalog all of Louisa’s milestones by preserving our memories so that Draco could view them in a Pensieve some day?”

Narcissa blushed, something that Hermione had rarely seen her do. “If I may make a confession, dear, I’ve already begun to do that. Lucius and I have each stored a half-dozen memories already. I hope you’re not angry,” she pleaded.

Hermione pursed her lips, more in amusement than anger. “I should have known you’d think of that,” she commented.

“I think it would be nice for you to include some of yours as well, Hermione. If not for Draco’s use, then for your own reminiscences as Louisa grows.”

“Then I guess it’s my turn for a confession. I’ve already tucked away a couple of dozen. In the Muggle world, I would have been taking photographs, but this is so much more satisfying. To know that I’ll be able to look back on her birth, her first night at home, even her first stretch when she’s all grown up was a temptation that I couldn’t resist.”

“Wonderful. Then we’re agreed that we’ll continue to store memories for both our own and Draco’s use in the future. Lucius will be thrilled. He did so hate to sneak around, and you know he’s already thoroughly smitten with the child, as am I.”

Hermione gently stroked the forehead of the child held firmly in her arms, staring at her as though memorizing every molecule of her soft, pink skin. “What’s not to love?”

“While we’re confessing things, Hermione, I have one more thing to share with you.”

Hermione tore her eyes away from her daughter reluctantly, but met Narcissa’s with indulgence. “I’m all ears,” she offered lightly.

“I was concerned that you might have difficulty bonding with Louisa, because of the way she was conceived. I am so thrilled to see that I was wrong.” She reached out and touched Hermione’s arm in a gesture of appreciation and affection.

“I can understand why you might have been worried about that. I’ll have to be honest that I was just the tiniest bit bothered about that myself. But I think that when I reached the decision to have her and raise her, I started connecting with her. I don’t know if you realized it, but before I went to bed at night while I was pregnant, I read to her. All kinds of things, not just children’s books. I wanted her to know the sound of my voice and to be soothed by it. I think I really started falling in love with her then.”

“I didn’t know that, but I think it’s lovely. She’ll probably love books as much as you do,” Narcissa observed.

“Draco once told me that he loved to read, too,” Hermione observed.

“Yes, he did. He could often be found in the library downstairs when he was growing up. He’d read all kinds of things. I remember Lucius hiding some of the… darker texts that the family owned so that he wouldn’t stumble upon them. His tastes, as I recall, were quite eclectic.”

Hermione was snickering, and Narcissa really didn’t understand why.

“What’s amusing, dear? I’m afraid I’ve missed something.”

“I was just thinking about a story Draco told me when we were at the cottage, about finding some… interesting materials when he was about twelve. Apparently, Lucius was quite unhappy about that and did a good job of hiding the items from Draco, regardless of his numerous attempts to find them.”

“Ah. Yes. I recall the incident. Lucius had a rather extensive collection of prurient literature and imagery. I must admit that he and I had a bit of a chuckle over that. I think he actually destroyed the bulk of his collection when that happened,” Narcissa noted with an amused smirk. “If I may ask, Hermione, what prompted you and him to talk about that?”

“Oh, gosh, I don’t really remember. We had a couple of conversations just to pass the time, and I think we were talking about embarrassing moments, or maybe interesting reading. I honestly don’t recall,” she replied, shrugging.

“You’ve talked so little about what happened there. I often wonder if you’ve come to terms with all of it,” Narcissa probed gently. “You know that Draco has been seeing a Mind Healer for a few months now, and it seems to be helping him. Have you considered doing that for yourself?”

“I have. Actually, I went to see a Mind Healer every day for about three weeks after our rescue. I’d heard that the better technique to deal with a short-term trauma was to immerse yourself in treatment. That’s the option I chose, and it seemed to help me quite a lot. That doesn’t mean that I don’t have difficult moments now and again, but I’ve learned coping skills. I think it helps that I truly understood what Draco was going through, and I honestly forgave him. That was very healing for me, to not hold on to the anger that I might have felt if he’d truly been responsible for his actions.”

“I’m glad to hear that. You know, Lucius and I do worry about you. While you are not officially a Malfoy, you are our granddaughter’s mother, and that is very important to us. More than that, we’ve become very fond of you as a person, apart from everything you did to help Draco. I hope you know that.”

“I do, and I’m very fond of you and Lucius. You’ve been nothing but kind and welcoming through the entire time and Merlin knows, you didn’t need to do that. I feel like I’m welcome here.”

“You are, and we both hope that you’ll stay with us for as long as you wish. We would love to be able to watch Louisa grow. Obviously, we don’t know what the future holds for Draco, but we’re hopeful that he will grow to accept and love her someday.”

“We’re a long way from that, Narcissa. It will be more than two years before he’s back from Salem. An awful lot can happen in that time. We’ll just need to take things one step at a time.”

“I won’t argue that with you, dear. But you will stay with us, won’t you?”

“Yes, about that. I’ve had a thought or two about what I’d like to do now that Louisa has arrived. I hope you’ll be supportive of my plan.”

“What did you have in mind, Hermione?”

“I’d like to go to St. Mungo’s School for Magical Medical Professions and become a Mind Healer. It would mean going to classes every day for at least several hours for eighteen months, and later working at the hospital as a trainee for six months before earning my certificate. I would need to have someone look after Louisa while I’m in class. Would you be willing to consider helping me achieve this goal?”

Narcissa was a bit taken aback. Young mothers in the Wizarding world typically did not work. Then again, it was clear that this was no ordinary young woman. The heart of gold she’d displayed when she’d testified for Draco and given him her forgiveness was apparently aching to be of further service. How could she begrudge her such a worthy aim? “I can see no reason that we’d not support you in any way you wish. In fact, I insist on paying your tuition.”

Hermione immediately opened her mouth to protest. She had a substantial financial award from the Ministry for her pivotal work in the war effort, and she’d been the sole heir of the nine members of the Granger family who’d been murdered early in the conflict. She’d inherited a fair amount of money, not enough for a lifetime of comfort, but certainly enough to finance her needs for the next five or six years, until her career was established.

“Don’t even think about refusing me. It is customary in the Wizarding world for the father’s family to bestow items of value on an heir’s mother. Since you’ve never shown any interest in jewelry, which is the most traditional gift, I’d like to convert the value so that it pays your tuition and expenses. It’s nothing more than what’s expected of Louisa’s grandparents,” she concluded firmly. “You know me by now, Hermione, and you can be certain that I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer. So just say ‘Thank you, Narcissa,’ and we can be done with it.”

“But…”

Narcissa waggled her finger to deny Hermione’s challenge. “What did I say? None of that. It’s done.”

Seeing defeat as inevitable, Hermione agreed with a sigh. She’d find some way to repay them someday, she promised herself. “Yes, Narcissa. Thank you, Narcissa.”

“That’s better, dear!” Her trilling laughter filled the room as she extended a hand to help Hermione out of the rocking chair. “Now we should go tell Lucius what he’s going to do.”


	5. Edginess

Narcissa and Lucius exchanged uneasy glances. The younger witch and wizard had been ensconced in the sitting room for well over an hour when they’d finally rejoined the rest of the Malfoy family in Louisa’s playroom and nursery, announcing that they’d made some decisions. Sweeping her eyes over Hermione and Draco, Narcissa saw no evidence of extreme distress, and it seemed that they were both relatively calm and composed. _They are either fabulous actors or they’ve truly reached some accord_ , she thought. Whatever scheming she and Lucius had in mind would have to wait for their pronouncements. Maybe whatever they’d decided would make machinations unnecessary.

Draco took control of the conversation, asking his parents to be seated on the sofa he’d conjured from one of the larger stuffed toys.

Hermione lifted Louisa from her spot on the floor as she whimpered at seeing the man she’d been told was her long-absent Papa. She cuddled the toddler and took her usual place in the comfortable rocking chair.

He paced, debating internally how to begin this discussion. It was true that they’d made several decisions, but there were many yet to be addressed. He thought it wouldn’t be unlikely for their personal “negotiations” to take months. “We’ve had an interesting and productive dialogue, and have reached a few decisions that we’d like you to know. Before we get to those, I have a few things I need to say to all of you.”

Narcissa looked at her son, trying to offer moral support and encouragement. What she saw was a young man who knew what he wanted; the determination in his expression was an exact copy of what she’d seen in her husband when he would not be swayed. They were in for some revelations, she felt certain.

“First, I can’t express to you how incredibly disappointed I am that Miss Granger’s pregnancy and Louisa’s birth were kept from me. She explained her reasons for wanting to ‘spare me’ of the knowledge, and I agree that it would have been ill-advised at the beginning. But Louisa is over two years old now, and there were ample appropriate opportunities for this to be shared with me. Miss Granger has told me that she forced you to make an Unbreakable Vow to keep all of this a secret, but we all know that there were probably alternatives. I won’t allow her to bear all of the blame when there is plenty to be spread around. I appreciate that you thought you were protecting all of us, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hurt by your deception. It will take some time to repair that trust. I’m not going to dwell on this now, because there are more important things to deal with. I’ve told Miss Granger that in light of how forgiving she was with me, I could do no less for her. That doesn’t mean that I’m any happier about the fact that it happened.

“Second, we’ve decided that she and Louisa will continue to live here in the Manor, at least for now. It’s the only home my daughter has ever known, and I’m not anxious to see that stability disturbed. As Miss Granger is just beginning her new job at St. Mungo’s, it will be important to make sure that Louisa doesn’t feel displaced. I have also decided that I will not be living here.” Draco paused as he heard his mother’s gasp of disappointment.

“Please, Draco, there’s so much room, and we’d really love for you to stay,” she entreated.

He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Mother, but I’ve lived on my own for three years and I’ve developed my own taste for independence. Since my release, I’ve been allowed access again to my inheritance and I plan to buy a small home or flat in Wizarding London. It’s not that far, and we will have easy contact through the Floo network. I’ll be sure to purchase a home that has accommodations for Louisa when she comes to visit. My decision on this is made.”

Hermione had been very quiet, just watching and listening to Draco’s monologue. When he mentioned Louisa’s visits, she saw Lucius’ jaw twitch. It might be time for her to add a few words, and she made eye contact with Draco, silently asking him to yield the floor. “Draco and I have agreed that he should get to know Louisa, sooner rather than later, and we’ve worked out how that will happen, at least initially. Until they are comfortable with each other, they will meet here at the Manor, with one of us present in the first couple of meetings to ensure that she isn’t scared. She knows the word ‘Papa’ but she doesn’t really understand what it means. I’m committed to helping them get to know each other in as seamless a way as possible, and we want you to support us in making sure this happens.” She looked at the elder Malfoys for confirmation that they would cooperate and was relieved to find no argument.

“Hermione, may I make a suggestion?” Lucius inquired.

“Of course.”

“It’s time for Louisa’s nap. Maybe you and Draco could put her down, then the adults can reconvene in the study to talk about the rest of this.” He interrupted himself to speak in French momentarily. “Les petites oreilles comprennent souvent plus que nous pensons.”

“Ears!” Louisa piped up.

“See?” Lucius noted, unable to contain a broad grin.

Draco looked stunned. “You’ve been teaching her to speak French?”

“Why wouldn’t we? It’s our family’s heritage, and you spoke French before you spoke English. She’s going to be more easily bilingual, because Hermione also speaks both French and English to her,” Lucius observed.

Draco turned to Hermione, obviously surprised. “I didn’t know you spoke French.”

She shrugged. “I don’t recall it ever coming up in the limited conversation that we’ve had, Draco. My mother’s family was from Paris, and my grandmother spoke very little English. There’s an awful lot we don’t know about each other.”

The young man shook his head. It was clear that he was in for many more surprises along the way; he thought it would be prudent to strap in for a bumpy ride. “Fine. I’m sure we’ll have plenty of opportunities to discover each other’s little quirks and oddities as we make parenting decisions.”

“Your father is right, though; Louisa should go down for her nap now.” Hermione rose from the rocking chair and carried the girl to her small bed. She noted that Narcissa and Lucius had slipped out of the room quietly and Draco was standing at her right shoulder.

He seemed to be struggling to find something to say. What did one say to one’s child upon meeting for the first time? It was not an everyday occurrence. “Louisa, your mummy told you earlier that I am your Papa. I want you to know that I’m very glad to see you, and I am very happy that we’ll get to spend some time together. Would that be okay with you?”

Blonde curls bobbed as the tiny child nodded her agreement. Pépère had been showing her pictures of this tall man and telling her for months that Papa would be home soon. No one could have said whether she’d quite understood what it all meant, but it was clear that Pépère hadn’t been teasing because the man from the pictures was now standing right next to Mummy. “Okay, Papa.”

Draco felt his heart clench in his chest and his throat constrict. He was no longer capable of speech. He reached out to entwine a curl around his finger; he’d never felt anything so soft in his entire life. He cleared his throat and squeaked out with great difficulty, “Good girl.” He turned away before either mother or daughter could see the tears gathering in his eyes.

“You have a good nap, and Mummy and Papa will see you in a little while,” Hermione promised. She kissed Louisa on the crown of her head and pulled up the unicorn-print blanket that was her favorite. Louisa had already clutched the white stuffed animal of the same species that slept beside her every night.

Hermione joined Draco at the door and stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah. It’s just more emotional than I expected, to see her and know that she’s mine. It’s overwhelming. I don’t know what to think or to say.”

“Just wait. It’ll get worse once you get to know her,” Hermione said, intending to tease.

Instead of the amusement that she expected, she was met with a look of pure horror. “What do you mean?”

“Relax, Draco. I just meant that she’s a smart little cookie, and she’ll challenge you at every turn. Think about it - her parents were the top two students at Hogwarts for five and a half years. She’s lived with three bilingual adults for her entire life, and she’s already manifested her first magic. She will push you in ways you can’t even imagine yet.”

“She’s shown magic already? At two years old?” Draco asked, flabbergasted to hear such a thing.

“Mmmhmm. One of your mother’s Ming vases was the unfortunate victim. I’ve never seen such a mix of unbridled joy and absolute horror in the space of two seconds. Narcissa’s reaction was enough to give me whiplash,” Hermione laughed. “I had to talk Lucius out of alerting the media of the new magical prodigy in the family.”

Hermione immediately regretted her words as she saw Draco’s face cloud over with annoyance at the reminder of their deception. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive of me,” she apologized.

“Forget it. It’s done. We need to deal with the present, so let’s go see my parents and finish this discussion,” Draco suggested, apparently not wishing to dwell on her faux pas.

Hermione nodded in agreement and led the way to Lucius’ study. The doors were ajar, welcoming them in to the hearth-warmed room.

“She’ll sleep for at least an hour, so we shouldn’t be disturbed,” Hermione announced. “Draco?”

“Yes. Father, since you’ve already seen to it that Louisa carries the family name, it makes sense that I should formally acknowledge paternity. I’ll see to it that the paperwork is filed with the Ministry by the end of the week. I’ll need to know what you’ve done about her inheritances, trust funds, and custody arrangements so that I can make the appropriate adjustments in my own holdings and bequests.”

Lucius was surprised at the maturity and command that he heard from this young man who hadn’t yet seen his twenty-fifth birthday. He had firmly grabbed control of the situation, much to his father’s surprise and delight. “The arrangements are standard, Draco. You can check with the family solicitor for all of the documentation.”

“I’ll not let you off quite that easily, Father. Standard for the Wizarding world, or standard for a Slytherin pureblood?” he challenged. “Miss Granger has a right to know the full story as well. I’m sure there are a few things that she ought to know.”

Lucius had the good grace to flush slightly as his son called out his manipulations. “I assure you, Miss Granger, there is nothing that creates any harm to either you or Louisa. Everything that I’ve done is meant to secure your comfortable future.”

Narcissa cleared her throat and glared at her husband. “Lucius, you told me that you’d discussed all of the arrangements with Hermione before you executed them.”

“I didn’t want to trouble either of you with dreadfully boring legal documents,” he hedged, not fooling anyone with his obfuscation.

“Just what do I need to know about?” Hermione now insisted, tired of people speaking as though she weren’t in the room.

Lucius sighed. He’d have no choice but to share all of the steps he’d taken to ensure Louisa’s ties to the Malfoy family. He was quite sure that Draco would divulge everything to Hermione if he didn’t do it himself. “The standard practice when an heir - or in this case, heiress - is born to an old family is to secure the claim. This generally means that no one else can later usurp that person’s position with regard to inheritances, which include properties, money, and titles. When you agreed that Louisa would take the Malfoy name, you didn’t relinquish any rights or custodies, so please don’t be concerned that there is any danger to your relationship or your rights of parentage. What you did do, without full disclosure, was to set up your daughter to inherit the fourth largest fortune in all of Europe, and the largest fortune in the Wizarding world. She is rightfully Louisa, Lady Malfoy and a member of the peerage. Since Draco was not…available to make the claim on his own, I did it on his behalf as the Earl.”

“So you’re telling me that my daughter will never want for anything, and that she’s technically royalty.”

“Yes, and not just technically. She is royal, as are we, by virtue of an earldom granted to the family from Queen Elizabeth I, in recognition of her, uh, relationship with the first Lucius Malfoy, who was an unsuccessful suitor for her hand, but for whom she did hold affection and regard. That’s really neither here nor there, other than being a way to get into exclusive parties and private clubs. What are much more important are the business holdings that will pass to her at some point. There are six major corporations under the control of Malfoy Enterprises, with a total of over sixty-five thousand employees. She would be de facto Chair of the Board of Directors for each of these firms. It’s a daunting responsibility, and she will need to be prepared from an early age to take her place.”

“What if she doesn’t want to do any of those things?” Hermione protested, seeing her daughter’s life planned out before her third birthday.

Narcissa and Lucius glanced at each other. She knew where this was headed, and it would be interesting, to say the least.

“There are two paths that would allow Louisa to relinquish her position within the family firms. The first would be if Draco fathered another child and Louisa designated that person as her proxy. The second would be for Draco to deny paternity, thus leaving the heir unnamed. Any child that Draco fathered after that would automatically become the acknowledged heir.”

“What if I never have another child?” Draco wondered.

“Then upon your death, the family properties, holdings and titles would pass to the nearest living relative.”

“Your nearest living relative, or mine?”

“Since it’s most likely that you will outlive me and become Earl Malfoy, it would be your nearest relative.”

“And wouldn’t that still be Louisa?” Hermione wondered. “Draco is named as her father on her birth certificate.”

“Not if he were to deny paternity,” Lucius stated.

“I have no intention of denying that I’m her father, so that’s a moot point,” Draco insisted. “So unless a miracle happens and I manage to sire another child, the family holdings will pass to the French Malfois. I can’t say that I really care, except to ensure that Louisa is well provided for.”

Narcissa spoke up after taking in all of the information that had been shared. “Louisa is only two years old, and Draco is only twenty-four. I’d say that there is a lot of time before we need to be concerned with these issues. Lucius, you’re not even fifty yet, and your family is notoriously long-lived. It wouldn’t be unlikely that you’ll see your one hundred fiftieth birthday. Let’s not borrow trouble before its time.”

“As reluctant as I am to seal my daughter’s fate at such a young age, I agree with Narcissa. There’s plenty of time to work out the details. And it’s not completely out of the question that she might want to take on the responsibility. Let’s take one step at a time, shall we?”

“I agree. And the first step is that I will claim paternity. No discussion, no argument,” Draco asserted. He turned to his father once again. “What else?”

“Louisa has been named the beneficiary of the Black Family Trust, the Malfoy Legacy Trust, the Rosier Bequests, and the Wizards and Witches Benefit Trust. The total value currently stands at forty-one million Galleons. It is expected that she only draw the interest and investment income from each of these holdings, and leaves the principle balance intact for the next generation. Typical annual income from the four is about two and a half million Galleons.”

Hermione was overwhelmed at hearing these numbers. It translated to over ten million pounds a year. “I desperately hope that she will have access to financial advisors. I have no idea how to manage that kind of money.”

“We have a team of them on retainer. They will be at your disposal whenever you need them,” Lucius offered. “In fact, it will be necessary to arrange a meeting fairly soon, as you will have to make some additional decisions now that Draco has agreed to claim paternity.”

“What kinds of decisions?”

“You’ll need to determine how your own trust will be administered, invested, and distributed,” Lucius answered.

“My own trust? I don’t understand,” Hermione stated.

Draco made eye contact with her, lifting his eyebrow in an unmistakable “Told you so” gesture.

“Since he acknowledges the child as his, he effectively acknowledges you as her mother. That means that the trust held for Draco’s spouse will go to you,” Lucius informed her.

She couldn’t have been more stunned. “But, I’m not his wife, and I never will be. What if he marries someone else and has a child with that woman?”

Another look passed between Narcissa and Lucius. “It wouldn’t matter. You are the mother of his acknowledged heiress. By Wizarding law, that makes you… eligible for the trust.”

“Lucius…” Narcissa warned.

He cleared his throat, sounding hesitant and nervous. “In some more traditional circles, it identifies you as his common law spouse.”

“What?!” Hermione and Draco exclaimed in unison.

“Please don’t be alarmed. It’s purely a technicality. It doesn’t obligate you to each other in any way, nor does it prevent you from developing relationships with other people. Should you decide to marry someone else, all you need do is file a Petition of Disassociation to the Ministry.”

“That sounds remarkably like a divorce,” Draco remarked. “Why would it be necessary if we are not ‘technically’ married?”

“Your ‘association’ is required to be acknowledged by virtue of the child that you claim as your own. It’s part and parcel. You can’t avoid it if you want to claim Louisa. It’s Wizarding law, Draco.”

“Not that I don’t believe you, Father, but rest assured that I will be checking all of this, line by line, with a well-qualified family law solicitor. I don’t want to burden either Miss Granger or myself with ties that she doesn’t want.”

Another look passed between his parents.

“What else?” Draco demanded.

“Just property transfers. Nothing of great significance.”

“What properties, and to whom?” Draco pressed.

“The French property and the Greek villa will be held in trust for Louisa. The townhouse is a direct gift to Miss Granger.”

Draco nodded in approval.

Hermione seethed with frustration. “What townhouse? And why on earth would you give it to me?”

“It’s a small property in the center of Muggle London. Four bedrooms, six baths, near Trafalgar Square,” Draco explained.

“We’ve decided to give it to you as a token of our esteem and affection. Nothing more, nothing less,” Lucius stated.

“I couldn’t possibly accept it.”

“Should you refuse it, it will simply be held in trust for Louisa. Regardless, it will be yours to use as long as you wish.”

“I don’t…”

“Hermione, you’ve lived with us for nearly three years. You know how we live. Have you been unhappy here with us? Or with the facilities?”

“Of course not, but…”

“There’s no ‘but’ in this discussion. We want to ensure that no matter what happens, you will have a comfortable place to live and sufficient funds at your disposal. You have given this family two of the most precious gifts we’ve ever received. How could we possibly not recognize that with a simple gift of our own?”

“A house is not a simple gift, Lucius,” Hermione argued.

He shrugged. “For us, it is.”

“Well, in any case, I won’t be living there for a while. Draco and I have agreed that it’s best for Louisa that we stay here until she’s more accustomed to all the changes that will be happening over the next several months. We’ll renegotiate that once things stabilize.”

Narcissa’s eyes flashed; she’d had an idea. “Hermione, I’m thrilled that you and Louisa will be staying here, but I do have a proposal, if you and Draco are amenable.”

“I’m listening,” Draco responded as Hermione nodded.

“What if Draco lives in the townhouse until Hermione is ready to take possession of it. That way, he wouldn’t have to buy something immediately, and everyone has both privacy and access. There’s also plenty of room for private quarters for both Louisa and any other guests that you might have.”

Draco considered her suggestion. On the plus side, it would give him a place of his own without having to go through the sometimes lengthy process of finding and purchasing a new home. The negative side was that it still tied him to his parents, although technically the house was now owned by Hermione. It was probably a reasonable interim solution; he could live there while looking for a home he wanted to buy. He looked to Hermione for any hint of her feelings on the subject, and found that she was smiling in approval.

“Fine. I’ll live there temporarily, but just until I find a place of my own, or until Miss Granger decides to take possession of the property.”

“Draco, would you please stop calling me ‘Miss Granger?’ It’s a bit formal, considering everything we’ve been through, don’t you think?”

“What do you propose that I call you?”

“By my given name. And Lucius, the same goes for you. We’ve lived in the same house for three years and I still can’t get you to use my name. It drives me up a tree,” she announced.

“Certainly, Miss Granger, if you wish,” Lucius replied, obviously teasing her, as belied by the classic Malfoy smirk on his face.

She groaned in exasperation. “You do know how to push my buttons, Lucius, don’t you?”

“Yes, Hermione, I’ve become quite skilled in annoying you to distraction. It’s one of my favorite pastimes.”

“No doubt, by virtue of how often you indulge in it.”

Draco was getting annoyed by the inane conversation and decided it was time to refocus them on more important topics. “If we’re all done being twelve-year-olds, there are other issues to discuss,” he stated, trying not to be too terribly rude despite the mild insult.

“Sorry, Draco. What else did you want to talk about?” Hermione asked.

“We need to discuss what we’ll say to the media and what will be told to our respective friends and families.”

“As you know, I have no family left, so the only people who count in my corner are old school friends. All of them know about Louisa and the circumstances of her birth, since we've stayed in touch and visited somewhat frequently. They’ve all been respectful of my wishes to not discuss it with the press. It’s really your call what to do about any general announcement or how you’ll address it with Malfoy acquaintances.”

“We issued a very subdued birth announcement in the Prophet when Louisa arrived, as required by Ministry Law, but to respect Hermione’s wishes, we really haven’t spoken about the child publicly. Did you have a thought about how you’d like to handle it, Draco?” Narcissa asked.

Draco was clearly irritated to learn that Granger’s friends had known about Louisa before he had, but since it would be counter-productive to beat that dead thestral, he just sighed and moved on. “As I plan to acknowledge her as my own, I think that I should issue a brief press release once the paperwork is filed with the Ministry. I don’t want to cause Miss Gr… Hermione any embarrassment or distress, so I’ll ask that she approve the final wording.” Draco glanced at her and received an appreciative smile in reply.

“What else, Draco?” Lucius asked, moving back into “all business” mode.

“Hermione and I have decided that, for Louisa’s sake, we are going to try to be civil with each other, despite our difficult history. While we came to know a little bit about each other during our time at the cabin, that was three years ago, and we’ve both grown and changed in innumerable ways since then. The only thing we really have in common is the child. If we’re going to be linked through Louisa for years to come, we felt that it makes sense for us to get to know each other for the people we are today.”

“How do you propose to go about that, Draco?” Narcissa queried.

He exchanged a glance with Hermione and saw the tilt of her head that indicated assent. “We’ve agreed that we will spend one hour each week together, either before or after I spend time with Louisa. During that time, we’ll talk about any decisions that need to be made in relation to her care and we’ll have conversation to get to know each other so that we can co-exist peacefully.”

“That sounds like a reasonable approach,” Narcissa commented. “May I make another suggestion?”

“Of course,” Hermione said.

“We could host a Sunday brunch each week, which would allow us to see everyone together rather than scheduling separate gatherings for Draco and Hermione. Would that be acceptable?”

Draco nodded in agreement, and Hermione followed suit.

“Lovely! We’ll start next week,” Narcissa decided.

“What other decisions have you made, Draco?” his father wondered.

“You and I need to talk about my place in the family business. I’ve been developing my interests and skills in other areas, and I’m reluctant to abandon them. I know there’s always been an expectation that I would join Malfoy Enterprises when the time was right, but I don’t feel that time is now.”

“Are you planning to work, or just manage your own portfolio?” Lucius asked.

“I am definitely planning to work. I can’t just sit on my duff in an office looking at financial statements all day; it would drive me to distraction. I’m not ready to share what I’m planning with you just yet, though. I have a few things I need to do first. When that’s been handled, I’ll let you know.”

“Is this related to what you’ve been doing in Salem?” Narcissa asked, curious about how his past employment at a restaurant might translate into something here in the Wizarding world.

“Yes, Mother. I’m just not ready to talk more about it today.”

“What else do we need to discuss?” Lucius prompted.

“Nothing that’s really pressing. I’ll need to arrange for some of my belongings to be transferred to the townhouse, and Miss Gra… Hermione, I’d appreciate your assistance in getting a room appropriately furnished for Louisa’s visits.”

“I’d be happy to help, Draco. Just let me know when you’d like me to pop over and we’ll get everything arranged,” she agreed.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like a few more minutes with Louisa before I leave this evening,” Draco addressed his request to Hermione.

“Of course. I’ll see if she’s awake from her nap.” Hermione rose to check on her daughter, leaving the three Malfoys alone in the study.

Draco rose as she left, pacing before the roaring fire and scrubbing his hand across the back of his neck. He seemed to be debating what to say or whether he should keep his peace. He caught a glimpse of his parents’ reflection in the mirror over the mantle and saw the meaningful glances exchanged between them. It was clear to him that they were scheming something more. He wondered if their meddling would ever cease.

“Haven’t you done enough?” he pressed.

“Excuse me, dear?” Narcissa asked.

“I know you both too well. It’s clear that the two of you have something going on in those devious Slytherin minds. I won’t be a tool for you to manipulate, so whatever it is, I advise you now to leave it, before you further damage the trust between us. It’s dreadfully fragile right now, so unless you’d like to ensure a long-term estrangement, stop whatever you’re thinking before it’s too late,” Draco advised.

“Son, we’re doing nothing of the sort. We’re only concerned for your welfare, and you must know how truly contrite we are over keeping Louisa from you. Had it been our choice, we’d have told you straightaway. We thought that it was better to look after Miss Granger and your child than to allow them to slip away from us forever. That would have been unthinkable,” Lucius asserted.

“Why?”

“’Why’ what?” his father asked, confused.

“Why would it have been unthinkable for them to have disappeared from our lives? What reason was so compelling that you risked alienating me to keep them close?”

“Are you saying that you’d have rather that been the case? That you don’t want Louisa?” Narcissa pressed.

“I didn’t say that at all. Regardless of the way she was conceived, she is my flesh and blood, and I have no desire nor plan to reject her. I’m trying to figure out why she was so important to you. What are you not telling me?” Draco insisted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **French Translation:**  
>  Les petites oreilles comprennent souvent plus que nous pensons. – Little ears often understand more than we think.


	6. Feeling

Draco Malfoy’s hands were sweating and his mouth was as dry as the desert. He’d been sitting in the office three doors down from David Roy’s for all of five minutes, and he was just about ready to bolt. He wondered what new level of insanity had prompted him to agree to this. As his twitching legs bounced nervously up and down, his heels making a rhythmic staccato sound against the wood floor, he finally tensed his thighs to stand, escape now his plan. His decision was too late, by the barest fraction of a second.

The door opened just as he rose to his full height, and a tall, slightly plump brunette stepped over the threshold with a thick file tucked under her left arm. “Good evening, Draco. I’m Kathryn Roy.” She extended her right hand to shake his in greeting.

“Dr. Roy,” he acknowledged with a mumble.

She smiled. This was not the first time she’d had a nervous, apprehensive, or downright terrified patient. In fact, it went with the territory. People had more difficulty talking about sexuality than they did about nearly anything else, including their own mortality. This young man would apparently fall into the “terrified” category if the sweat beading on his forehead and upper lip were any indication.

“Have a seat. Get comfy,” she offered, indicating one of the two chairs that were placed near the large picture window with a nod of her head. As good as the view was from David’s office, this one was significantly better, due mostly to the twelve feet of uninterrupted glass. Rather than sitting behind the desk that sat perpendicular to the window, she selected the chair directly beside Draco’s.

“You look a little nervous, Draco,” she observed. “Relax. I promise I won’t bite.” Her big brown eyes, the color of dark bittersweet chocolate, twinkled with amusement. She dropped the thick file on the small glass table between them and faced the young man directly. “Today’s session will be so that we can get to know each other a little bit, and talk about some goals for your treatment. Nothing too heavy, okay?”

He nodded, swallowing convulsively.

“So, David has filled me in on your case and I’ve read the case notes. That’s the usual procedure with a referral of this sort. I want to know from you, though, why you agreed to add this facet to your treatment.” She tucked the hair of her straight, medium-length bob behind her ears, almost as if to signify “I’m listening.”

“I, uh…” he began, then stopped to clear his throat, unable to get any words past the monstrous obstruction of his dry tongue. “It seemed like a good idea at the time,” he murmured, not meeting her eyes.

“And now?” she probed.

Draco shrugged, still focusing his rapt attention on the floor. “It’s all a bit… humiliating.”

“What’s humiliating?”

“Just the thought of having to talk about my thoroughly messed-up sexuality.”

“If your sex life is ‘thoroughly messed up,’ as you put it, wouldn’t you rather it get better?”

“Well, yes.” He had to admit, her logic was sound.

“That won’t happen spontaneously, Draco. For things to get better, you have to talk about it, learn about it, and work on it. Almost like practicing a sport. You played Quidditch, right?”she asked.

“Mmmhmm,” he acknowledged.

“Were you as skilled the first time you got on a broom as you were after a couple of years of practice and game play?” she pressed.

“Obviously, no,” he reluctantly agreed, acceding to her point.

“See? Sex is no different. You need to understand the rules. Who are the other players? What’s acceptable in-bounds behavior? What gets you in the penalty box? How do you ensure that your skills are up to par? No great mystery, Draco, we just need to help you figure all those things out.”

“What’s a ‘penalty box?’” he asked, confused.

“Oh, sorry, I get my sports mixed up sometimes. That’s from ice hockey, not Quidditch. You have to sit out part of the game when you do something against the rules.”

“Hunh. Sounds like I’ve been in the penalty box for quite a long time, then. Probably appropriate.”

“That’s one of the things you’ll find is against the rules.”

His look of confusion prompted her to continue.

“No self-recriminations and no judgments. You’re here to heal, learn, and grow. You can’t do that if you’re constantly berating yourself.”

He sighed. She had a point. “Fine. So what do we do first?”

“I’d like to understand as much of your sexual history as you can remember. I know that there are lots of blanks in your memory, so don’t get too stressed about things you truly can’t recall. We’ll just work with what we’ve got for now. I’m going to ask you a series of specific questions, and I’d like you to answer them as completely and honestly as you can. I fully recognize that some of this may be a bit embarrassing, but just push through it. If it helps you to get through a difficult part, especially in our first couple of sessions, it’s okay to close your eyes and just talk. Okay, ready?”

“As I’ll ever be, I suppose.”

“I understand that you did have a physical examination with a Healer and I think you and David have also established fairly well that this is not an organic problem, so we’re going to move a little further along into background, causes, and results. In your own words, could you desc…”

Draco put up a hand to interrupt. “Excuse me, Dr. Roy, but what do you mean by an ‘organic’ problem?”

“Oh, sorry, I sometimes get ahead of myself with terminology. An organic problem would be one where the cause is likely to be physical, meaning an issue with your genitals not functioning as they should due to a disease, disfigurement or injury. The report I received from your Healer in Salem indicated a clean bill of health on any issues that could affect your sexual health or performance.”

“Oh. Yes, he told me that. I just hadn’t heard that term. Sorry to interrupt.”

“No problem, Draco. In fact, it’s very good that you did interrupt. If I ever say anything or ask anything that you don’t understand, it’s very important that you get clarification. Misunderstandings would not be helpful to your treatment.”

“I will.”

“Good. Now, as I was saying, describe for me in your own words what your problem is, and why you’ve sought treatment.”

“I have no interest in sex, and I haven’t had a willing sex partner since I was sixteen. After talking about it with Dr. Roy, I felt that this was something that I’d like to change some day, and he suggested seeing a sex therapist in addition to the work we’re doing.”

“Would you be a little more specific for me on a couple of things, Draco? When you say you have no interest in sex, what does that mean?”

“I don’t really think about sex, except in the context of dreams. I don’t get, um, aroused by seeing pretty girls or when they flirt with me. I have no desire to, uh, take care of my morning, um, erections.”

“You say that you aren’t aroused by pretty girls. Is there anything else that does arouse you?”

“If you’re asking if I’m interested in men, the answer is an unequivocal ‘no fucking way.’”

Kathryn bit the inside of her lip to ensure that she wouldn’t smile.

“Does the idea disgust you?”

“In a general sense, no. I don’t care what other people do; to each their own. You’re a witch, so you know that it’s not that big a deal in the Wizarding world, not like it seems to be with some Muggles. But I’m not turned on by men in any way.”

“Okay. You mentioned something about dreams. Tell me more about that.”

“I, uh, sometimes have sexual dreams.”

“How often?”

“A couple of times a week.”

“How often do those dreams result in a climax?”

“I’d say about half the time.”

She made a couple of notes on a pad that she’d retrieved from her desk. There would be more exploring on the details of that topic later.

“You said you don’t typically ‘take care of’ your morning erections. What else do you have to say about that?”

He shrugged. “It just doesn’t seem to be worth the effort.”

“Other than waking erections, how often do you become physically aroused to a full erection?”

“Rarely.”

“Would you be more specific? Once a day? Once a week?”

“Less than that.”

“Less than once a week?”

“Yes. Maybe once or twice a month.”

“And what happens then?”

Draco looked at her for the first time since she’d begun her series of questions. “Pardon?”

“What happens when you have those infrequent erections?”

“Uh, nothing. I ignore them.”

“Is there ever a time when you don’t ignore them?”

“Only if it’s painful.”

“What happens then?”

“I, uh, take care of it quickly.”

“How?”

She could see some frustration on the young man’s face. The questions may have seemed both intrusive and obvious, but she couldn’t leave anything ambiguous. She nodded at him in encouragement. “How?” she repeated.

“I, uh, masturbate to completion.”

“Anything that you notice about those times? Any common themes or images?”

“It’s usually after I’ve had an intense dream, but didn’t reach climax while I was still sleeping. Look, Dr. Roy, I’ve already talked about this with Dr. Roy and I’d rather not reha…”

She stilled him with a raised hand. “I know it’s difficult to talk about, Draco. But it’s important that I hear from you what your thoughts and interpretations are of things today. As we go through this process, you’ll remember different things and other impressions will emerge. If I’m to help you, I need to have a clear picture of where your head is at every step of the way.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Oh, please, I’m not that old. In fact, with all the ‘Dr. Roys’ floating around here, it’s probably easier if you call me by my given name. I won’t be offended, I promise.”

“I don’t think I can do that…”

“If that feels too familiar, you can try Dr. Kate,” she offered. “Now that I’ve got an idea of how you view the basic problem, tell me why you wanted to be treated.”

Draco flushed. “I think that I’d, uh, like to have a normal relationship someday, and if I go on the way I have been, I’d guess that most women wouldn’t really be satisfied with a husband who couldn’t, uh, perform his marital duties.”

“Marital duties?”

“Yes. You know, siring an heir, ensuring the continuation of the family line.”

Kathryn shook her head infinitesimally. This boy definitely lived in a different world than even most of her Wizarding clientele. That he’d think first of his duty to dynastic lineage rather than a healthy relationship and physical well-being said a lot about how much work they had ahead of them. “Is that all?” she pressed.

“Well, no, I guess not.”

“Would you be more specific?”

“I, uh, guess that it would be, uh, nice to have a good physical relationship with a woman. Someday.”

“Thank you, Draco. I think I have a basic understanding of how you perceive the problem and why you’ve sought treatment. I’d like to ask you a few more questions about your basic family, health, and sexual history.”

“Fine.”

“First, tell me a little bit about what it was like to grow up in your home.”

“I suppose that I had a relatively normal childhood for a young wizard. My mother was very warm and caring, and very involved with my upbringing. My father was a little less involved. He traveled quite a bit for business when I was small, but he was usually there for important milestones in my life.”

“Were you closer to one parent than the other?”

“I would say that I was closer to my mother until I was about thirteen or fourteen, then started to be a little closer to my father.”

“What would you say was the major reason for that shift?”

“I guess it was because he started taking more of an interest in what I was doing at school, and thinking about preparing me to take my place in the family business. It was also about the time the conflict started heating up between purebloods and Muggleborn or Half-blood wizards. He was in a very powerful position, and I wanted to have his attention and approval.”

“What was your family’s attitude towards sex? Was it ever a topic of discussion between you and one or both of your parents?”

“I never had a discussion about that with my mother. I recall one conversation with my father when I was about twelve. It wasn’t terribly pleasant, though it was memorable.”

“How so? Tell me more.”

“I had found a collection of, uh, wizard pornography in his library and he was very angry with me.”

“Why was he angry?”

“Because I’d been snooping around and disturbed his things.”

“Was his anger in any way related to the fact that you’d discovered this material?”

“I don’t think so. I do remember that there were several things that I saw that, uh, confused me at the time, and I recall asking him questions. He did answer me, but in a perfunctory, clinical way.”

“So was your curiosity satisfied by his answers?”

“Not really.”

“What did you do about that, Draco?”

“It seemed clear to me that he didn’t really want to discuss it, so I asked a couple of friends from school, and they gave me some information.”

“In hindsight, was that information useful or accurate?”

“Barely.”

“How did you learn about changes that were happening to your body as you entered puberty?”

“I don’t really recall any specific conversation about that.”

“So what happened when you had your first erection, or your first emission?”

“I don’t think I was terribly surprised or upset. I grew up with a lot of animals on the estate, so there were numerous opportunities to see nature in action. There was just no discussion about it.”

“Was that how you found out about sex in general?”

“Yes, I’d say so, from a ‘nature’ standpoint. When we were in fourth year at Hogwarts, we had a mandatory session with our Head of House where he explained the relationship between sex and procreation, contraception, and the school’s policy with regard to prohibitions on sexual activity with other students.”

“Were all of your questions answered at that point?”

“Probably not. Professor Snape was not exactly… approachable. I mean, like most boys of that age, I was curious and wanted to experiment, and I suppose that I was relatively typical in the amount and kinds of playing around that I did at that young age. Most of it was looking, to be honest, with a little snogging thrown in now and again. And lots of, uh, self-pleasuring.”

“You mentioned friends from school. Tell me a little about those relationships.”

“My closest associate in school was Blaise. He and I were as near to friends as two Slytherins could get. I spent a couple of school holidays with him, including the summer that I turned sixteen.”

“What was particularly important about that summer?”

“It was the first time I had sex with a girl.”

“What does that mean?”

“Uh, intercourse a couple of times, and oral sex.”

“Eventful summer, Draco.”

“It was. It stands out even more because it’s the last time I recall consensual sex,” he admitted ruefully.

She looked at him sympathetically. She paused for a moment, thinking about how to best phrase her next question. “Tell me… what do you know about your ‘missing’ sexual history?”

Draco couldn’t meet her eyes and took advantage of her offer to simply speak with his own eyes closed. His voice came out shaky and barely above a whisper. “All I really know comes to me in brief flashes, mostly during dreams. I think you know that I was under the influence of both spells and potions for about five years. During that time, I was apparently conditioned to be a sadist, and I took every opportunity to satisfy my blood lust. I recall one incident in fairly significant detail, I think because I had a dream – or memory – of it while I was going through withdrawal from the potions. I recall the aftermath of the final attack that I made, but not the event itself. My conviction stated that I had more than one hundred eighty victims. I don’t even know for certain how many of them survived.”

When Kathryn glanced up from the note she’d been taking, she saw a trail of tears against the young man’s pale cheeks. So much for not getting too heavy today, she thought. While the mother in her wanted nothing more than to envelope the wounded young man in a hug, the therapist knew that sexual trauma victims often reacted badly to physical contact, especially unexpected touch. She settled for handing him a box of tissues, and quietly asked another question.

“Tell me what you’re feeling that causes the tears, Draco.”

He sniffed and wiped his eyes before formulating his response. “Guilt, mostly. I hate that I did what I did. I wish I could undo it. I feel so…filthy.”

“Why?”

He snapped his attention to meet her unwavering gaze. “Why? Because I hurt people. I killed people. Their pain and deaths caused pleasure for me. That’s… sick. Twisted. Disgusting. Vile. They breathed and bled their last while I got off on it. It doesn’t get any more horrid than that.” He could no longer contain his anxious energy and burst from the chair, pacing rapidly from window to door and back again.

“You said that your conviction listed more than one hundred eighty victims, and you only remember a couple of them. You’re expressing an awful lot of guilt for something that you barely recall and that the Wizengamot deemed was not your responsibility. How do you feel about that?”

“That’s the crux of the problem, Dr. Kate. My head can comprehend that I was manipulated into doing what I did, but my heart and soul feel the responsibility. I don’t deserve to be walking free when so many of them are dead and buried.” He stopped pacing and stared out the massive window on the people walking hurriedly in the chill air outside.

“So, if I’m hearing you correctly, you think you weren’t sufficiently punished?” she probed.

“Yes. No. I just… don’t know.”

“Are you punishing yourself, Draco, because the Wizengamot spared you?”

“But they didn’t spare me. She did.”

“Who is ‘she?’”

“My final victim. We were stranded alone together for a few days, during which the antidote to the potions I’d been given started to work. She helped me to figure out what was going on, and she forgave me for what I did to her. Then she volunteered to testify on my behalf. If she hadn’t been there to witness what happened as I came out from under the spells, it would only have been my parents’ word against all the evidence. She’s the one who made the difference.”

“Are you angry with her for that?”

“What? No! Why would I be angry with her? I’m grateful and unworthy of what she did to help me, but I’m certainly not angry with her.”

“What are you not saying about her?”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m hearing a subtext when you speak of her. What else is going on in your head about this woman?”

Draco harrumphed. “It’s just that I’ve known her – sort of – for a very long time, and our…interactions are very complicated.”

“Do you feel comfortable sharing a name, just so it’s easier for us to reference her? If not, you can make one up.”

“I call her ‘Granger.’ Why?”

“I have a feeling we’ll be spending a fair amount of time resolving what you’re thinking about this person.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Lucius lifted the tiny infant from her cradle, hoping to cease her crying before his wife returned to the nursery. Louisa had been left in her grandparents’ care while Hermione attended a meeting at St. Mungo’s for students entering the next term’s Healer training program. It was apparently time for a quick nappy change and a bit of lunch, which Lucius had promised he could handle without difficulty. Louisa’s wailing indicated that he’d not been quick enough for her tastes with either task, and he refused to be rescued – once again – by his spouse. Just once, he wanted to do this on his own.

“There, there, mon chou, Pépère has you now and we’ll get you out of that wet nappy in a flash,” he cooed, wincing briefly as he heard himself speak in such a soft, sappy tone. What this little babe had done to reduce this strapping man to such a milquetoast, he didn’t want to admit. Grateful beyond words that he was a wizard, he set the child on the changing table and swished his wand once to remove the offensive white cotton cloth, a second time to clean her bottom, and a third to replace it with a new nappy. Her crying ceased nearly immediately. “That’s my good girl. Now, let’s see about getting a bottle for you.”

He cradled the baby against his chest and sat in the rocking chair, calling for a house-elf. “Tuppy, will you get a warm bottle for Louisa?” The creature returned with the requested item before Lucius could fully settle his granddaughter against his arm. Seconds later, she was suckling away, making tiny sounds of swallowing and satisfaction, Lucius watching with a very un-Malfoy-like grin. This was the scene Hermione saw when she returned from her outing not even five minutes later.

“If I took a picture of this, no one would ever believe it wasn’t a fake,” she quipped, watching from the doorway.

Narcissa appeared at her shoulder a moment later, adding, “The only thing that would do is a pensieve memory. I’m quite certain this one will be added to the collection.” She turned to Hermione. “How did your meeting go?”

“It was terrific. They gave us our book lists and our schedule for the first term, along with a summary of each course that we’ll be taking. We were able to meet briefly with the Training Healers, and they shared a synopsis of what we’ll be working on during the first six weeks.”

“You sound so excited, dear,” Narcissa commented.

“Oh, I am! It was exhilarating and I can’t wait to get started.”

“When do sessions begin, Miss Granger,” Lucius inquired.

“Four more weeks.”

“So Louisa will be about fourteen weeks old by then,” Narcissa commented. “You won’t have weaned her by then, Hermione. Have you determined how you’ll handle that?”

“My schedule has short breaks throughout the day that will allow me to use the Floo to come back for feedings. If there are specific assignments that require me to stay, I’ll typically have at least a few hours’ notice, so I’ll just be sure to leave milk behind for her.”

“And Pépère will be delighted to make sure she gets her bottle,” Narcissa added with a chuckle.

“And Mémère will help with dirty nappies,” Lucius retorted, quirking an eyebrow at his wife’s cheekiness.

“Changing nappies with the aid of a wand cannot qualify as hardship duty, Lucius,” Hermione teased, looking at her daughter who had finished her bottle and was now falling off to sleep with her belly full and her bottom dry. She moved to lift the child from Lucius’ arms, but he waved her off.

“I’ve got her. I’ll just rock her for a few more moments then put her back in the cradle.”

“Well, if you’ve got things well in hand here for a little bit, I’ll go put away the books that I bought. I’ll see you in a short while,” Hermione announced, waving at Lucius and Narcissa as she left the room.

“It’s so… different to see you this way, Lucius,” Narcissa observed once they were alone.

He barked a sound that she chose to interpret as a laugh. “What do you mean, dearest?”

“You were never this… cuddly with Draco when he was an infant.”

“My attention was consumed with gaining power and influence. Now that I have those things, I can relax at least a little. And besides, grandfathers are expected to dote on and spoil their grandchildren, especially the first, and most especially little girls,” he argued, attempting to sound forbidding and controlled but failing miserably, particularly as he was nuzzling the infant at the time.

“I suppose there’s some real truth there. I remember how your father was with Draco. He’d spend hours playing with the boy, but barely had a word for you.”

“See? It’s just tradition that must be upheld,” Lucius asserted. “Besides, my father disapproved of nearly everything I ever did. At least I recognize Draco’s positive attributes along with his difficulties.”

“Will you ever really acknowledge, my love, just how much you have changed in the last couple of years?”

“But I really haven’t, Cissy. I’m just as manipulative and ruthless as I’ve ever been. You’ve seen evidence of that very recently, if you recall. I’ve just never been a grandfather before, and I’m choosing to relish in it. It’s entirely possible that she’ll be the only one we’ll ever have. I won’t waste that, and while Draco’s away, I will be as much as a father-figure for Louisa as Miss Granger will allow me to be.”

“I can understand how you feel about that, Lucius, but I haven’t given up hope that Draco will someday find a way to be a father to this child as well as one that will be his by choice.”


	7. Growth

_**Previously –** _

_“Are you saying that you’d have rather that been the case? That you don’t want Louisa?” Narcissa pressed._

_“I didn’t say that at all. Regardless of the way she was conceived, she is my flesh and blood, and I have no desire nor plan to reject her. I’m trying to figure out why she was so important to you. What are you not telling me?” Draco insisted._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

“Draco, you must understand that we’ve had nearly three years to bond with both Hermione and Louisa. You will always be first in our hearts, but we’ve made room for two more people, one of whom is of our own flesh and blood as much as she is yours. Louisa is our family’s future, regardless of how she came to be.”

Having rarely heard his mother speak with such vehemence and passion about another person, Draco was at a loss for how to respond. What made the situation that much more unusual was his father’s unspoken confirmation and support of his mother’s position. He’d even seen the man nod in affirmation. He wondered briefly whether these were the same parents who’d raised him. He still felt there was something left unsaid, but he’d had enough stress for one day; there would be time to revisit the topic later.

“I have no doubt that you love Louisa, and that you’ve become very fond of Gran… Hermione. I have no issue with that; in fact, I think it’s a good thing. Grandparents should be thoroughly enamored of their grandchildren. It just seems to me that there’s more to the story. I’m not questioning your attachment to either of them. I do know that you don’t do much without multiple layers and reasons, and though your focus on securing the claim seems reasonable, I have no doubt that you have something more in mind.”

“Draco, I promise you that the only thing we have in mind is ensuring that the Malfoy line continues. Securing Louisa’s claim has done that. There’s nothing more to say,” Lucius assured him.

Draco peered at his father intently. He had no evidence to the contrary, so he’d accept his father’s assertion for now. “As you say, Father. I’ll speak with you later. I’d like to go spend a little time with my daughter,” he reminded them, and left the study with his shoulders squared.

Narcissa pinned her husband with a stare. “He’s not going to appreciate our meddling in his affairs, you know. He’s not the malleable boy he was eight years ago.”

Lucius smiled, not the kind expression that he wore more often these days, but one of a more predatory sort. “I beg to differ, dear, not so much on his malleability but on his level of appreciation should we be successful. I have a suspicion that he’ll be quite grateful, at least in the long run.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hermione had found Louisa wide awake and happily playing in her bed with her charmed stuffed unicorn. She lifted the toddler, whose arms were firmly wrapped around the neck of the squirming toy, over the safety rails and onto the plush, soft cream carpeting that covered the nursery’s floor.

“Mummy! Play time now?”

“Yes, sweetheart, we can have some play time. I want you to be a very good girl for Mummy, because Papa is going to be having play time with us too.”

“Don’t know Papa,” she replied, some trepidation obvious in the deep frown that creased her pale brow. Her coloring was so like Draco’s that Hermione still marveled that anyone recognized the child as her own.

“Not yet, no. But Papa is home from far away now, and he’s going to be spending some time to get to know you better.”

“Okay,” she replied, her obedient nature still intact. The “terrible twos” hadn’t quite manifested yet, and with parents as opinionated and volatile as hers, the likelihood of a calm transition into greater independence was slim. “Pépère said.”

“Did he?” Hermione confirmed. Now, that comes as no surprise, she mused. “What did Pépère tell you, mon chou?”

“Papa come. Pretty pictures.”

“He showed you pictures of Papa?”

“Uh huh. Pretty pictures,” she repeated.

Hermione had to chuckle. All pictures that moved were “pretty” to Louisa. The few remaining Muggle photographs that Hermione had of her deceased family members had been shared many times, but never elicited quite the same reaction as the Wizarding variety. She hoped that the child’s appreciation of the other type would grow as she matured.

“That’s nice. Do you remember that Mummy showed you some pictures too?”

“Yes. On the wall, Mummy.”

“That’s right. I showed you the pictures of Papa when he was little, and when he was growing up. He’s a big man now, like Pépère.”

“Big! Like Pépère. Look like Pépère.”

“Yes, Louisa, he does look a lot like Pépère. That’s because he’s Pépère’s son, just like you are my daughter.”

“Pépère is a Mummy too?” Louisa tested her understanding.

“No, honey, Pépère is not a Mummy. He’s a Papa. Mémère is a Mummy.”

“Mémère is Pépère’s Mummy.”

“No, Mémère is Papa’s Mummy.”

“Pépère is Papa,” Louisa asserted confidently.

“Oh, honey, I think this is still a little too complicated for you. How about we just say this? Pépère is Pépère, Mémère is Mémère, Mummy is Mummy, and Papa is Papa. We’ll worry about familial links another time,” Hermione concluded with a sigh.

“Well done, Granger. Now even I’m confused,” Draco said as he watched the two females from the spot he’d claimed, leaning against the door-frame.

Resolving not to take offense in his teasing, Hermione turned to face her daughter’s father. “I’d be happy to let you clarify all of that, Papa. Be my guest, if you wish,” she invited, keeping her tone as light and teasing as his had been.

“Ohhh, nooo. Not ready for that, by a long shot,” he admitted. “May I join you?”

“Of course. I was just telling Louisa that her Papa was coming to spend some time, and we just discovered that Pépère has been showing her pictures of you in anticipation of your arrival.”

“Ah. Good to know that I wasn’t completely forgotten,” Draco noted.

“Hey, that’s not entirely fair. I showed her pictures of you, too. Just not the same ones that your father showed her, apparently.”

“I was wondering why he insisted on taking pictures of me whenever he and Mother came to visit. Here’s the explanation.”

“I had no idea that he’d done that. I’m not upset by it, but I honestly didn’t know. I suppose it was a good idea – helped to pave the way, so to say.”

“I’m sure that’s all he had in mind,” Draco drawled, certain he’d discovered another tiny link in the mystery about whatever scheme his parents were attempting to execute. “Whatever his motivation, at least I’m not entirely unfamiliar to her. I’ll take that as a positive step.”

“I will as well; in fact, I wish I’d thought of it.”

Draco nodded but said nothing more for the moment. His attention was now diverted to the toddler sitting on the floor, looking at both of her parents with rapt interest. He met her wide grey eyes with a smile. “Hi, Louisa. My name is Draco, and I’m your Papa. Would it be okay with you if I sat on the floor next to you?”

“Drake Opapa can sit.” At her invitation, Draco lowered himself into a cross-legged position and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees to get as close to the child’s level as he could.

“You can just call him ‘Papa’ if you like, Louisa,” Hermione suggested.

A head of blonde curls shook back and forth. “No. Drake Opapa. He said.” A tiny pink finger pointed at the man who was nearly three times her height.

“Pointing is not polite, Louisa. But since ‘he said,’ I guess it should be his decision,” Hermione relented. “What will it be, sir?” she asked with an amused grin.

“I think that Louisa can call me anything she wishes. But how about we turn it around the other way? Can you say ‘Papa Draco?’” he asked the tyke.

This time, the blonde curls bobbed up and down. “Papa Drake.”

“Close enough for me,” he confirmed.

Hermione shrugged. “Do you want some time alone with her?” Though they’d agreed to have joint visits at the outset, she recognized the import of Draco wanting to bond with the girl.

“I don’t know that any of us are ready for that yet. Stick around, and we’ll see how it goes,” he offered.

Hermione accepted Draco’s invitation by sitting on the floor with the man and their daughter. “Probably a wise decision,” she agreed.

Draco gave her a tight smile and turned his attention back to Louisa. “So who’s this little guy?” he asked, indicating the stuffed unicorn that was galloping in circles around her.

“Girl! It’s Pennalopy.”

Draco glanced at Hermione for translation.

“It’s her way of saying ‘Penelope,’ though I have no earthly idea where she ever heard it,” she shared, sotto voce, raising her brow to mark another moment of the toddler’s precociousness.

“Ah. I’m so very sorry. I didn’t notice the pink collar, which so clearly indicates that she’s a girl,” he apologized solemnly to the child. “Is she your best friend?”

“No. Best toy. James my best friend.”

Draco nodded and said, “That’s great.” To Hermione, he whispered, “Who’s James?”

“Harry and Luna’s little boy. He’s about eight months younger than Louisa.”

“Potter and Lovegood? No shit!”

“Bad word, Papa Drake,” Louisa scolded, her lower lip protruding in a tiny pout.

“I’m so sorry. I promise I won’t say it again,” he pledged, flushing with amusement and the tiniest bit of embarrassment at having been called out by the toddler.

“What did I tell you? She’ll push you,” Hermione reminded him.

“You weren’t shi…uh, kidding me, were you?” he agreed.

Hermione pursed her lips. “Nope.”

Turning his attention back to the child, Draco asked, “What else is Louisa’s favorite?”

“Carrots and chocolate.”

“Merlin, not together, I hope.” He grimaced at the thought.

“No!” Louisa chirped. “Yucky!”

Draco laughed at the facial expression that had mimicked his own. “Yes, definitely yucky.” His face clouded over for a moment, recalling a time when he would have identified the latter item as his own food passion. He hadn’t had a single taste of the confection in three years, and had no desire to resume that practice. The very thought turned his intestines to jelly and caused his hands to shake. The reaction hadn’t gone unnoticed.

“Everything okay?” Hermione probed.

“Sure. I’ll, uh, fill you in later,” he hedged. He turned back to Louisa, whose attention had been captured by a second toy unicorn interacting with her favorite “Pennalopy” by seemingly challenging it to a galloping race around the girl’s rocking chair.

“Combien de français comprend-elle vraiment?” Draco asked Hermione.

“Elle est aussi à l'aise en français tout qu'elle est en anglais,” she replied. “Pourquoi?”

“Se demandant combien nous pouvons discuter en privé, si il est nécessaire.”

“Personally, I’d recommend either speaking away from her or speaking English. If we speak too much French, she gets curious and asks a million questions.”

“So she is like her mother, then,” Draco noted, though not unkindly.

“Well, since she favors you in her appearance, it’s probably good that she takes after me in the brains department.” Hermione could give back as good as she got.

“Not a complaint, Granger, simply an observation. I recall telling you once before that I respected your intellect. That certainly hasn’t changed.”

“I thought you were going to call me by my name,” she reminded him.

“And since when is your name not ‘Granger?’” he wondered, needling her.

“You know very well what I mean. It annoys me to be called by my surname.”

“I hate to tell you this, but since I’ve been calling you ‘Granger’ for at least a dozen years, it’s going to be really hard to break the habit. The best I can do is promise to try… when I think of it.” He smirked at her to let her know that those times would be rare and far between.

She sighed. “I suppose I can’t ask for more than that. But do try when we’re with Louisa. She’s very impressionable, and it wouldn’t surprise me that she’d pick up the practice from you. That, I will not abide.”

“Fair enough, I promise that I’ll be extra vigilant in my form of address for you in front of our daughter.” Now he was just mocking her purposely.

She rolled her eyes. “Are you sure you’re twenty-four? You sound more like seventeen.”

“I’m still practicing my girl-annoying skills. I haven’t had much opportunity to hone them in the last several years, and since you’re the only female other than my mother and daughter who will voluntarily speak to me, you’re an easy target. Forgive me if they irritate you. I’ll stop, if you wish.”

“Do you mean to tell me that you weren’t dating and annoying the witch population of Salem for the last three years?” she asked in disbelief.

“That would be, uh, relatively accurate. If you don’t mind, I’d rather not discuss that at the moment,” he stated, his once-affable mood slightly fading once again. He watched Louisa as she reached for one of galloping unicorns, causing both of them to tumble over and eliciting peals of laughter from the girl. “She’s a lovely child. And before you call me on a conceit, I’m not talking about her looks. She seems to have a very sweet disposition, and there’s no doubt that she’s a happy, well-loved little one.”

“Thank you, Draco. I’ve done the best I can with her, and your parents have been wonderful influences in both of our lives. They’ve done as much for me as they have for her, and we’ve become very close.” She hesitated briefly. “I hope that doesn’t cause any conflict or difficulty for you.”

“I told them and I’ll tell you the same. I have no problem whatsoever with the relationship between you and my parents. You are all adults and free to make your own associations. If you and I have any… difficulties in reconciling our own relationship, it might make things a bit awkward at times, but I am very willing to do my part to ensure that we forget any animosity between us and raise Louisa together in as civil a partnership as we can.”

“I’m committed to doing the same, Draco. While I agree that it may be awkward between us at times, I was very serious in my forgiveness of you. I am not angry about what happened, and while the final product was not expected, I love Louisa as much as if we had planned to bring her into the world. I hold no resentment there, Draco. I do hope that you can take that to heart, and I hope that someday you can find a way to forgive me for not telling you about her from the beginning.”

“Hermione, we’ve both hurt each other, but among the many things I learned in more than two and a half years of therapy is that holding on to anger and resentment damages the angry person infinitely more than the target of their ire. It won’t do either of us any good for me to continue to be angry with you, so I’ll choose to let it go. I’ll always regret that I couldn’t share in her infancy, but I won’t let it damage the way we work together to ensure her best future.”

“Oh, Draco, I have something to tell you. I’m so sorry that I forgot to mention it earlier.” She put her hands over her face, blushing in embarrassment, then leapt to her feet.

“Is this something else that you’ll want me to forgive?” he wondered aloud.

“Merlin, no. I think you’ll actually like this,” she called over her shoulder. “Wait just a moment. I have something for you.”

She disappeared out of the room, leaving Draco to watch his daughter adding dolls to the backs of the prancing stuffed unicorns. She returned only a few moments later, levitating a large wooden box behind her.

“Your parents and I have been storing memories of all of Louisa’s important milestones and even many day-to-day events so that you’d have the opportunity to see her first two years.” She set the box on the top of the dresser so that the delicate vials would be out of reach of tiny hands.

Draco unfurled his long legs and stretched as he rose, brushing carpet fibers from his charcoal grey trousers. He was stunned with what he saw as Hermione lifted the lid. There were easily two hundred tiny vials in velvet-lined layers, each one labeled with a date and a set of initials: LM, NM, or HG. He lifted out each tray, inspecting the contents as the additional layers were stacked in reverse chronological order. The earliest date was two and a half years ago. The most recent was just the previous day. He was speechless, and he felt a large lump gathering in his throat.

“I know it’s not everything that’s ever happened with her, but we hoped that it would give you some greater sense of connection to her,” Hermione explained. “Obviously, the ones labeled ‘HG’ are my memories, and some of them are very… personal. I’ve labeled those with a little heart. I have no objection to you seeing them, if you wish. You should just know that they may include things like me during the pregnancy or breastfeeding her, and there’s one of her delivery. Just, uh, don’t share them with anyone else, if you don’t mind.”

He nodded, still a bit dumbstruck. He ran his hand over the glass containers, touching them almost as if they were labeled in Braille and he was absorbing their meaning through his fingertips. He saw one labeled with a date he recognized: November 27, 2003. It had been the date that he’d called his father for help when the Salem cottage’s water heating system had failed. “What’s this one?” he asked in a whisper.

“That’s my memory of Louisa’s birth.”

“I remembered that date, because I had to call my father for help with the water heating system. In an eerie coincidence of when you and I were in the cottage in Surrey, I had no hot water and I couldn’t fix it without a wand. She was born on the same day?” he questioned.

“Yes. As a matter of fact, when you called that morning, we were all in your father’s study preparing to use the Floo to call St. Mungo’s because I’d gone into labor.”

“No wonder he was so distracted when he came to see me,” Draco recalled.

“She was born about seven hours after Lucius returned from visiting you.”

“Please, Hermione, I’d really like to see that memory,” he asked, his tone and gaze beseeching her for permission to view her most personal moment. His eyes shone with gathering tears.

She reached for the vial and handed it to him, grasping his hand in both of hers in a gesture of comfort. “Of course, Draco. The Pensieve is in your father’s study.”

“Would you, I mean, uh, could you… watch it with me? In case I have any questions?” he asked hoarsely. He sounded so vulnerable that she couldn’t bring herself to deny him.

“Um, sure. Let me just get a house-elf to keep an eye on Louisa for a little bit. Why don’t you head over to the study and I’ll just make sure she’s settled.”

He nodded in agreement and left the room, the memory clenched tightly in his hand.

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. _What an idiot! I should have never agreed to watch it with him_ , she chastised. “What’s done is done,” she mumbled, recognizing that she’d cause more grief between them if she backed out now. Sighing once more, she called for a house-elf and gave instructions for Louisa’s remaining play time before supper.

“Missy Hermione, I’s been taking care of Malfoy babies for seven families. I thinks I knows whats to do,” the tiny creature squeaked, arms akimbo.

Hermione felt properly rebuked. “I’m sorry, Anjie. You know how I am; I can’t help giving orders.”

Anjie shooed her away with a wave of her arms. “You tends to your busyness and I’s tends to mine.”

“Thank you, Anjie. I’m going now.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

When Draco arrived in his father’s study, he found that his parents had left for locations unknown. It was a massive property, so they could be just about anywhere. He hoped that they would give him and Hermione a few minutes of privacy so that he could view her memory without interruption or interference. After she arrived, he would seal the door. For good measure, he’d add the magical equivalent of a “Do Not Disturb” sign. He didn’t have to wait long; she knocked once and entered at his reply.

“Are you sure you want to do this together?” she asked. “I would understand if you wanted privacy.”

“No. I’d rather we do it together. We are her parents; we should start behaving as such, and this seems as good a beginning point as I could hope to find.”

“If you’re sure…”

“I am. Let’s do this before we’re disturbed.” He sealed the door as he’d planned while Hermione retrieved the Pensieve from the shelf behind Lucius’ desk. She set the heavy vessel on the oak surface and nodded to Draco. He uncorked the vial and released the swirling mist into the carrier medium.

Standing side by side, they both dipped into the memory and were transported back through time via Hermione’s recollection of the day Louisa entered the world.

_Hermione’s face was scrunched in a grimace of pain and effort, her hair and face damp with perspiration. She was pushing, encouragement provided by her Healer and… his mother, at her shoulder, their hands gripped in a tight squeeze. The Healer was telling her that the baby’s head was crowning and one or two more pushes would complete the delivery. From Hermione’s perspective, he could see her upraised and parted knees, but not much more. The beauty – or horror – of magical memory, however, would allow him to see the captured scene from the viewpoint of anyone who’d been present in the room. Within the tableau, he stepped away from the present-day Hermione who’d accompanied him and with a glance that might have been apologetic, moved to stand beside the memory-Healer with a full view of the memory-Hermione’s labor progress._

_The Healer had described the situation accurately; he could see the top of the child’s head, coated with blood and amniotic fluid, breaching the gap and making its unrelenting trek toward the world. He heard the Healer call for another push and he subconsciously reached for memory-Hermione’s knee, desperate, it seemed, for some kind of human contact. He was disappointed but only momentarily surprised when his hand passed through air. He was torn between looking at the real woman who’d entered the memory with him and the impending arrival of his daughter. The Healer’s commentary made the decision for him and he watched, agape and intent, as his daughter’s head, shoulders, chest, hips, feet emerged one by one from their nine-month cocoon. He couldn’t tear his eyes away as the Healer’s assistant cleaned the newborn, and he heard the babe’s first wail. Only when she was firmly tucked into her mother’s arms did Draco note that this vision had gone blurry, and he shifted his attention to the present-Hermione who accepted the hand he’d unknowingly extended to her. Together, they left the memory and came to awareness in Lucius Malfoy’s study._

Draco’s face was wet with tears and, unable to utter a sound save a single sob, he enfolded his daughter’s mother in an embrace. After a long moment, he muttered two words, barely audible, and escaped from the room.

“Thank you?” Hermione repeated, wondering exactly what Draco had had in mind. The answer to her unheard question would not come today.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

When Lucius Malfoy returned to his study to find that it had been sealed against entry, he knew immediately who’d done it. Only another Malfoy could cast that specific charm, and since his wife was less than three feet from his side, it could only be his son. The question was, why he’d done it and whether he was alone. A quick check with a house-elf had confirmed that Hermione Granger was not anywhere else on the property, so it was highly likely that the two were locked in there together.

“What do you suppose they’re doing?” Narcissa mused, her expression warring between hopeful and horrified.

Lucius smirked. “Don’t get your hopes up, wife. I’ll lay odds that she’s finally told him about the memories we stored. They’re probably neck-deep in the Pensieve right now.”

His amusement was short-lived as the door burst open and an obviously overwrought Draco sped past them, headed for the staircase. Lucius met his wife’s eyes and placed a hand on her arm. “Let him go. You know he needs to work things out on his own.”

Narcissa tugged away and decided to see in what state Hermione had been left. She found the younger woman staring at the doorway that Draco had just exited, looking slightly stunned. “Is everything all right?” Narcissa inquired.

“Uh, yes. I think so,” she replied distantly.

“What happened?”

“I told Draco about the memories, and he asked to see the one of Louisa’s delivery. I don’t think he was upset, just overwhelmed. He said ‘thank you,’” she trailed off.

“He thanked you? For what?” Lucius interjected, stepping into the room behind his wife.

“I’m not entirely certain. My best guess is that he was thanking me for sharing the memory with him. When we emerged from the Pensieve, he was, uh, very emotional and he, uh, hugged me. Then he left.”

“Did he say where he was headed?” Narcissa asked.

Hermione shook her head. “He didn’t. But I’d say that the two strongest possibilities would be Louisa’s nursery or his own room.”

Lucius and Narcissa looked at each other and spoke simultaneously, “Louisa.”

“We shouldn’t intrude,” Hermione stated.

Lucius replied, “We shouldn’t,” he indicated himself and his wife with a gesture, “but it would be entirely appropriate for you to be with them.”

“I don’t know…”

Narcissa nodded her head in agreement with her husband. “You should be with them. It’s only natural.”

Hermione hesitated, but something was tugging at her to see what was happening upstairs in the nursery. What if Louisa was upset or confused? Maybe she needed her mother. _But she’s with her father_ , a little voice prodded. _And they barely know each other_ , her rational mind argued. When love and responsibility were at war, both led to the same conclusion. She’d go.

Climbing the steps slowly and silently, Hermione thought about what she and Draco had witnessed together. For her, it was a wonderful moment of her past. For him, it was a visceral reminder of the consequences of his actions, but also the first view of his own flesh and blood renewing the promise of an untainted life. Hermione reached the end of the hall and quietly opened the nursery’s double doors. She couldn’t have been more than two or three minutes behind him, so she wouldn’t have missed much.

She saw a peacefully sleeping child, who had obviously been lifted just seconds earlier from her supine position on the bed, being cradled gently against the chest of a young father, who was blessing her with his first kiss on her forehead and dampening her flaxen hair with his silent tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **French Translations:**
> 
> Mon chou – my sweet
> 
> Combien de français comprend-elle vraiment? – How much French does she really understand?
> 
> Elle est aussi à l'aise en français tout qu'elle est en anglais. – She’s as fluent in French as she is in English.
> 
> Pourquoi – Why
> 
> Se demandant combien nous pouvons discuter en privé, si il est nécessaire. – Wondering how much we can discuss privately, should it be necessary.


	8. Heart-sore

“Have you been able to get him to tell you any more about what’s going on in his dreams?” David Roy asked of his wife and clinical partner. They were conducting their regular bi-weekly treatment review of patients they shared and of the more difficult cases in their individual practices.

Kate shook her head as she chewed on the cranberry mini-muffin she’d selected as a mid-morning snack. “Other than getting him to tell me that better than half tend to be graphically sexual in content, he’s not been able to give me any more useful detail. I’m not convinced, though, that he’s telling me everything he knows about them on a conscious level. I think he’s holding back.”

David wasn’t terribly surprised to hear this; the young man was reluctant at times to reveal some of the deeper details, and thus meanings, of his troubles. Other times he was thoroughly open and forthcoming. He hadn’t yet been able to determine what prompted the difference. “I wonder how aware he is of what he’s withholding and why. I’m convinced there’s a theme to it, and I have a couple of theories. I think most of it is related to his final victim, the girl he knew from school, Miss Granger.”

She nodded in agreement. “I definitely think you’re right about that. And I’m more convinced than ever that he’s subconsciously suppressing his normal sexuality as a form of self-punishment or penitence.”

“I’d have to agree with you there, if push came to shove. There’s obviously normal sexual function available to him because he is able to achieve erection and reach orgasm in the context of his dreams. He’s denying that outlet to himself when he’s awake and aware, and I think he’s afraid to acknowledge what arouses him.”

“And you think it has something to do with the Granger girl?”

“I do. Did he tell you about what happened just before they were rescued from that cottage?” David wondered.

“No. We haven’t had that conversation. Why?”

“Check my notes on it, but in a nutshell, he says that the last time he really gave in to a sexual urge was after he’d helped her take a shower just before they were retrieved.”

“With her?” she asked, incredulous.

“No. Masturbation.”

“Do you think he developed a fixation on her?”

“I think it’s a possibility, but I also believe there’s more to it than that. You should explore that event more fully.”

“I agree. I’ll bring it up in our next appointment.”

“When is that?”

She checked her appointment book quickly. “Tomorrow, at seven o’clock.”

“I’m seeing him today at five. I want to work on the guilt angle a little more today. I think we’ve made some progress there, but he’s still got a long way to go.”

Kate nodded again in agreement. “I’ve seen some incremental progress, too, but he still struggles to talk openly about any sexual issue. I haven’t even started exercises for him yet because he still can’t say ‘erection’ without turning four shades of red. Sometimes I wonder if he’s having difficulty talking with me because I’m a woman.”

“Poor kid. I feel for him,” David remarked, shaking his head sadly. “I don’t think your gender has anything to do with it, though. He’s just as reticent with me.”

“You know, if you think about his background, it’s not terribly difficult to understand why he’s so repressed, even if he’d never been a victim of sexual trauma. I did a little research. He comes from one of the oldest Wizarding families on record. You can trace them back at least twelve-hundred years before documentation starts to get sketchy. Families like his tend to be focused on duty and responsibility, not love and relationship. That’s a big part of why he’s so screwed up. He views himself as a failure to his family as much as to society. That would practically be a death-blow among his peer group, and his fears of being ostracized are not unfounded.”

“So that probably contributes to why he’s been so reluctant to build even simple friendships, never mind any kind of romantic entanglements.”

“Did I tell you what he said to me about why he wanted treatment for his problem?”

“No. What did he say?” David paused to take a long sip of his ever-present cup of strong black coffee.

“He wanted to be able to carry out his duty to continue the family line.”

David winced and once again shook his head in poignant disbelief. “Talk about pressure. Thanks for sharing that with me. It’ll help with some of the tracks I’m going to follow.”

“Anytime, Sweetie,” she acknowledged as she rose from her seat after checking the time on her wristwatch. “Got to go. My next appointment should be here in less than five minutes and I want to give a quick once-over to my notes. See you for lunch?”

“Sure. I’ll order sandwiches in, and we can finish with the rest of the list then. Turkey on rye?”

“Perfect. Love you!” Kate kissed her husband quickly and darted out the door to her own office.

“Love you, too,” he called out as she disappeared around the corner, turning his attention back to the stack of files balanced on his knee.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco barely had time to make it home for a quick shower after his shift at the restaurant if he wanted to be on time for his appointment with Dr. David. His sex therapist had been right about one thing – calling them both “Dr. Roy” could lead to a little confusion, so he’d adopted her suggestion and referred to them with the appropriate honorific and their first names. The thought that he actually had a sex therapist caused him to shake his head in mild disbelief.

He stripped off his uniform of white shirt and black trousers, then tossed his socks and boxers into the hamper. Since he was now wholly responsible for doing his own laundry and chores, he’d become much more diligent about putting things in their proper place. He’d certainly come to appreciate what the house-elves and various hired servants did to make his life easier. He’d never take them for granted again. Reaching through the gap in the curtain into the tub-cum-shower, he turned on the tap and smiled gratefully when the falling water was at the perfect temperature. He stepped over the side of the claw-footed tub and under the stream, wetting his head and hair first. He scrubbed at his face with open palms in an effort to erase the weariness that accompanied the end of this trying day.

Draco allowed his thoughts to drift as he reached for the bar of sandalwood-scented soap that he’d left in the wire holder hooked over the side of the tub, scrubbing his arms, neck, chest, and torso. He’d had an… interesting day at the restaurant. At the first table he’d served for the day, his heart had nearly stopped when he’d seen the curly brown hair of the woman seated at the table with her back to him. He’d nearly asked one of his colleagues to take the table for him until he’d managed to get enough of a side view of the woman to determine with certainty that she wasn’t who he feared she was. Regardless, it had thrown him for the rest of the shift and he’d brought the wrong meal to two different patrons, a mistake he hadn’t made since his first week in the position.

His problem now was that he couldn’t get the original curly-haired woman in his life out of his head. The last time he’d seen her, in the closing moments of his trial, she’d looked at him with such kindness and compassion. Only his mother had ever rivaled that level of feeling. He had no illusions that Granger felt anything for him other than empathy for his difficult adolescence, but it annoyed him to no end that the woman continually invaded his thoughts. Like now. The picture currently running through his brain was the one that he recalled far too often for comfort. The vision of her silhouette against the shower curtain was the topic of dreams more frequently than he cared to admit, and now and again slipped through to his conscious mind, causing a situation like the one currently at hand.

He turned off the hot water tap, in direct contradiction to the promise he’d made to himself so many months earlier, and allowed the cold stream of liquid to douse his arousal. He would not reduce her to an object of masturbatory fantasy; it just wasn’t right. His objective quickly achieved, he reinstated the hot water flow, and shampooed and rinsed his hair. One final twist of the taps turned off the stream of water and he stepped out of the tub, reaching for the towel that he rubbed across his scalp briskly, then tied around his hips.

Draco moved to his bedroom to find something to wear. Jeans and a jumper – no, “sweater” here in the States, he reminded himself – would be appropriate. Thick woolen socks and dark blue cotton briefs were retrieved from his dresser and donned quickly in the slightly cool room. The black jeans were found folded in the large wardrobe, and his favorite charcoal grey sweater was located on the top shelf. After he’d finished lacing up his shoes, he returned to the bathroom for a quick comb-through of his hair – he’d need a cut soon – and a thorough brushing of his teeth. Taking a deep breath, he pronounced himself ready, and moved to the study to activate the Floo for the trip to the offices of the Doctors Roy.

After a quick soot dust-off, Draco made his way to the main entrance where Muggle and wizard alike gained access to the waiting room and administrative offices of the practice. There, the petite blonde receptionist, whom he’d previously learned was called Hillary, asked him to take a seat while Dr. David finished with his current patient. “Won’t be more than five minutes,” she told him.

He took a seat at one end of a leather sofa and selected a two-month-old sports magazine from the stack of dog-eared publications on the nearby end table. The headlines proclaimed the recent Super Bowl victory of an apparently local football team called the Patriots. He was somewhat confused as he thought that the Muggle sport of football was played with a round white and black ball. Here, he saw a brown leather object that vaguely resembled a speckled egg with tapered ends, this held in the hands of a man wearing an imposing helmet and shoulder protection that far exceeded what he’d used in Quidditch. He barely had time to flip to the indicated page to clarify whatever misunderstanding he’d had about the sport when Dr. David appeared at the door, asking him to step in to his office.

Draco dropped the magazine where he’d found it - it wasn’t all that important to him anyway – and followed his therapist down the hall.

“Good to see you, Draco. How are you today?” Dr. David inquired, more out of general good manners than as an entré into their discussion.

“I’m, uh, fine. And you?” Draco returned as the two men took their respective seats.

“Very well, thanks. I heard that hesitation from you, though, Draco. Something bugging you?”

“You’re getting to know me too well,” Draco complained, without rancor. “It’s unnerving.”

“That’s my job. The best way to help you is to know you as well as I possibly can. That includes interpreting your mercurial moods and subtle intonations. And by the way, you aren’t so good at hiding it when you’re troubled by something. So what’s going on?”

“I just had a tough day at work,” Draco hedged.

“And?” The good doctor would not allow him to get away with his avoidance tactic.

“I saw a person at work today who reminded me of someone, and it threw me. I couldn’t shake it all day.”

“You know what I’m going to ask, Draco…”

“I’m just stalling so I don’t have to say it aloud.”

“And you should know by now that I won’t let you get away with that one,” the therapist scolded lightly.

“Of course I do. That doesn’t mean I won’t make the attempt.”

Dr. David just stared pointedly at his patient in reply.

“Fine. She reminded me of Granger. Happy now?” Draco huffed.

“I’m delirious, but how do you feel? About seeing someone that reminded you of her?”

Draco leaned forward in his seat and rubbed the heels of his palms against his eyes. “At first, I was terrified. My instinct was to ask one of my co-workers to take the table for me. When I was finally sure it wasn’t her, I plucked up my courage and served the party. But it left me shaky. I made two mistakes with orders, and I haven’t done that in months.”

“What else?” Dr. Roy asked the standard probe meant to elicit more information, not necessarily expecting to learn more but leaving the proverbial door open.

“Then I couldn’t get her out of my head, because the reminder felt so visceral. Will she ever stop haunting me, Doc?”

“Do you want her to?”

“Hunh. Fair question.”

“So?”

“There are times when I’m really horrified that she seems to be so ever-present in my mind. Sometimes it makes me want to scream when she’s so… near. Other times, it feels comforting and… right. Almost like she’s there to encourage me or support me in some way. It’s very… confusing.”

“When are you horrified by her presence?”

“In my dreams, mostly.”

“You’ve been very reluctant to talk about the content of those dreams, Draco, other than to say that she’s a major character in them. You need to be honest with me if you want me to help. What’s the reason that you won’t talk about what happens in those dreams? Do you not remember them, or are you too embarrassed by them?” He figured now was as good a time as any to push through this issue that was blocking the young man’s progress.

“Easily half of my dreams of her are sexual in some way,” he answered in a whisper. “In some of them, I’ve attacked her as I did in reality, and I’m begging her for forgiveness, but I’ve still done that horrible thing and taken my pleasure from her against her will. In others, I’m a voyeur as she goes about her business, but it arouses me and I use her image to fuel my fantasies. Once in a great while, I’m actually making love to her as I imagine it should be. Those are usually the ones where I wake up… unsatisfied, and they are probably the ones that trouble be the most.”

“Is she the only actual person who appears in your sexually explicit dreams?”

“Yes.”

“What about outside your dreams?”

Draco flushed and cursed his pale English skin for its failure to hide his humiliation. “Yes.”

“Draco, I’m going to suggest that you discuss this with Kate tomorrow. I’m not quite ready to let you off the hook here, but we’re going to explore a different angle on this than you will with her.”

Draco nodded in understanding.

“I’m going to give you three words, and I want you to give me your definition for each of them. Then, I want you to give me an example of how it plays a role in your life.”

“Okay, I’m ready.”

“The first word is ‘accountability.’ You can take a brief moment to think about it if you need to.”

Draco paused for a moment, a look of deep concentration creasing his brow. “Accountability is the willingness to accept both the consequences and the rewards of an action you’ve taken or caused to be taken.”

“What do you mean by ‘caused to be taken’?” David pressed.

“Well, if a supervisor instructs an employee to do something, the supervisor would be ultimately accountable for the action, because it was his decision.”

“Thanks. And now, how does accountability play a role in your life?”

“If I make a mistake at work, like giving the wrong order to someone, or dropping a plate, it’s up to me to fix it.”

David made a couple of scribbles in his notebook. “The second word is ‘responsibility.’”

“I’m, uh, not sure how that’s different from accountability,” Draco began, “but if I had to identify some distinction, I guess I’d say that accountability is more external and responsibility is more internal.”

“Say more about that.”

“Accountability is something that comes from an outside measure, like job performance or legal things. Responsibility is how you feel about it, whether you take the things you do to heart.”

“And responsibility in your life is…”

“Feeling that it was appropriate for me to be punished for the things that I did, regardless of how they came to be.”

“The final word, Draco, is ‘guilt.’”

Draco’s face pinched into a weary, pained expression. “That’s one I think I’ve come to know well. It’s how you feel remorse and sadness for the things you’ve done wrong.”

“Even though the law deemed you not accountable for those things?” David asked.

“Just because the law says one thing, it doesn’t mean that I’m not heart-sick over it,” Draco announced.

“Okay. I get that. Let me add one more word for you, and get your distinction between that and guilt. Tell me what ‘remorse’ means.”

“Wishing that you hadn’t done something. Feeling sorry for what you’ve done that’s hurt someone else.”

“How is that different from guilt?” the counselor pressed once more.

“I’m… uh…I guess I don’t see a distinction.”

“Tell me how ‘guilt’ feels, physically. How does your body react to feeling guilt?”

“I feel like my blood is hot and my pulse races. My chest gets… tight,” he said, subconsciously rubbing at his sternum, “and my stomach churns. I feel like I want to vomit.”

“And with remorse?”

“Hunh, I think I see what you mean. That has less of a physical element to it, but it makes me depressed, like I want to, uh, weep. It’s more in my head than in my heart, I guess.”

“What do you think causes the physical difference in your reactions?”

“I haven’t any idea, but I’m guessing that you do, Doc.”

“Some of it is a pure adrenaline reaction to a specific, overwhelming negative stimulus. It’s that ‘fight or flight’ reaction, and your body is actually fighting with itself because it’s so hard to reconcile what you’ve done with who you think you really are, or who you would wish to be.”

“From a purely intellectual perspective, I can understand that. What I don’t know how to do is stop feeling it,” Draco confessed.

“That’s where our weekly question comes in, Draco. How do you feel about Miss Granger today?”

“Confused, horrible, in awe.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

After a significantly less stressful day at work than the previous one, Draco arrived at home with time for a hot shower and a brief rest before his appointment with the other Doctor Roy. His sessions with Dr. Kate were always a bit more nerve-racking than those with her husband. He hadn’t quite figured out why, though he thought it might have something to do with how hard he seemed to be battling his normal male sex drive. He’d started to wonder exactly what it was that made him so apathetic and uncomfortable about his very natural urges and needs. At least he’d made that much progress – Dr. Kate had helped him to see his nocturnal and early morning urges as part of who he was as a male. It was the “giving in” part that was infinitely more difficult to reconcile.

At ten minutes till seven, he reluctantly pushed off the sofa to make the two minute Floo connection that would deposit him at his therapists’ office.

At three minutes till seven, Hillary told him that Dr. Kate was just finishing a phone call and would be with him momentarily.

At one minute after seven, his nervous anticipation overrode his good manners and he rose from the waiting room’s leather sofa to pace the floor. He was grateful that, for once, there were no other patients awaiting their appointments.

Two minutes later, Dr. Kate appeared at the door leading to the private offices and beckoned Draco to follow her. “I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting. There was a little emergency that needed to be handled,” she explained as they entered her office.

“A sex emergency?” Draco asked, unable to disguise his amusement and incredulity.

“Well, yes. One of my patients has been using a medical therapy in conjunction with our treatment, and it, uh, didn’t go quite as expected.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to belittle someone’s problem,” Draco offered hurriedly, embarrassed to have made a faux pas.

“Don’t worry about it, Draco. We’re all curious. And ‘little’ definitely wasn’t the problem this time. Just be thankful that you weren’t the one suffering from a four-hour erection. Not a good thing,” she stated, shuddering. “Oh, before we get started, I just wanted to ask if you could come by the house about fifteen minutes earlier on Saturday. The boys are going to Little League baseball try-outs in a couple of weeks and I wanted to make a quick stop at the sporting goods store before work.”

“Sure, the timing is no problem, but what’s ‘baseball,’ if you don’t mind my asking,” Draco wondered. He’d had a good deal of enjoyment getting to know the Roys’ two young sons, but he couldn’t recall them ever talking about the sport she mentioned.

“How long have you been living here? Ten, eleven months? And you don’t know what baseball is?” Kate was genuinely stunned.

Draco shook his head in reply.

“Well, we’ll have to rectify that. We Bostonians are passionate about baseball in general and our Red Sox in particular. You’ll have to ask David to explain the finer points, but it’s a sport that’s played on a field that’s called a ‘diamond.’ There are nine men on each side, and they alternate between playing offense and defense within each portion of the game, called an ‘inning.’ One player throws a small white ball and another player tries to hit it with a bat, um, stick, and score runs by touching the bases before they get thrown out, and the te…”

Draco raised his hands in surrender. “Whoa, Dr. Kate, you lost me at ‘red socks.’ What does the color of one’s undergarments have to do with a sport?”

She couldn’t help but laugh. “You know, it might be better if we just have you join us to watch a game. Spring training has started, and most of the games are televised. I must say that I’m stunned that you haven’t seen one yet.”

“Well, I don’t have a television at home, and if I saw it elsewhere, I wouldn’t have known what I was watching. But something you said has reminded me of something I’ve wanted to ask and I keep forgetting. Does this have anything to do with the fact that half the population around here wears clothing with embroidered red stockings on them?”

She laughed again, and rose from her seat to open her closet. She reached in and pulled out a navy blue zip-front sweatshirt that had the symbol Draco mentioned emblazoned across the left chest, with the lettering “Red Sox” below. “Like this?”

“Yes! That’s it!”

“This is the logo of the local professional baseball team. They’re called the ‘Boston Red Sox’ and just about everybody follows them rabidly around here,” she explained.

“Well, now I understand. It’s like wearing the colors of your favorite Quidditch team,” he concluded. “I’d wondered if it was some kind of club or fraternal organization.”

“Exactly right. We call ourselves ‘Red Sox Nation’ and there are members literally all over the world, so you weren’t too far off.”

Draco shook his head, thinking that fanaticism had reached a whole new level.

“Well, anyway, the boys want to play in the league for kids, and I need to get them some equipment, so if you’re sure you don’t mind…”

“Not a problem. Glad to help out.”

“Terrific. Thanks. Now, let’s get down to business, shall we?”

“This was easier,” he murmured under his breath.

“I heard that,” Dr. Kate twisted her lips into a smirk. “So, I was reviewing David’s case notes and he highlighted a couple of things that he thought would be productive for us to discuss. Did he mention that to you?”

“Yes, he did. He seems to think that we need to talk more about how I relate to Granger, how she seems to be such a constant in my head.”

“Correct. There are two specific incidents that I want to have you talk about. The first one was quite some time ago, but I think you’ll recall it. I know you’ve said that it was very rare that you intentionally masturbated to completion, but you told David about a time that happened at the very end of your time at the cottage in Surrey. To your best recollection, tell me what happened.” She had purposely avoided the young man’s eyes, suspecting how uncomfortable he was likely to be to speak about this. She knew in an instant that she was not wrong when a strangled sound escaped her patient’s throat. At that, she did look up.

“Draco? Are you all right?” she inquired.

“Uh, yeah, just, uh something caught in my throat,” he replied.

“Your heart or your tongue?” she wondered.

“Both. That’s why it sounded like I was choking,” he offered with a wry grin. At least his sense of sarcasm hadn’t suffered.

“Now that you’ve found your voice, tell me what happened.”

Draco breathed deeply, more to calm himself than to delay the inevitable. “You recall that I told you that I had been given an antidote to the potions I’d been taking for so many years?” Draco noted her nod of affirmation and continued. “Granger had been helping to figure out what was going on, and she had been so kind to me. We were working together, and figuring things out together. It was very companionable and satisfying. Well, after three days of trying, we finally figured out how to get the hot water working, and I offered to help her get a shower.” He noted Kate’s raised eyebrow and responded to it. “No, nothing like that. I just wanted to help her get cleaned up. She thought about it and asked me to help her, but under very specific terms, to which I obviously agreed. I carried her to the bathroom, she undressed by herself, I put her into the shower, and then helped her back to the sofa after she’d finished.”

“So what happened that caused your sexual reaction?”

“She asked me to wait in the bathroom while she was actually in the shower because she was so weak, she feared she might fall. I saw her form through the shower curtain, and it really got to me,” he admitted.

“Why do you think you reacted that way?”

“I wish I knew for sure.”

“So you don’t know for sure, but what are the possibilities you’ve considered.”

“My body was finally free of the potions and spells, so I was probably reacting more like any normal bloke would. That was the first thing I considered. The second was that I was actually attracted to her in some way.”

“Anything else?”

“Not that comes to mind.”

“Is she an attractive young woman, in your opinion?”

“Yes, I guess so. She has these really expressive, big brown eyes, and when she was younger, her hair was this wild mess, but now it’s beautiful chestnut curls, at least it was the last time I saw her. She has a very lovely shape; even when I was a schoolboy, I couldn’t deny that. It used to drive me nuts that someone of such so-called inferior blood could attract my attention that way.”

“What else did you think about her when you were in school together?”

“She was always scary smart. Up until the middle of fifth year, we were always vying for the number one and two spots in academic ranking. That used to make me crazy, too. How could she be so good at magic if she was a Mud, uh sorry, Muggle-born? It never made sense to me.”

“How did you treat her in school?”

“I was a right terror. Used to tease her ceaselessly and mercilessly. Called her names, made her trip in the halls, that kind of thing.”

“You do realize that what you’re describing are the classic things that all adolescent boys do to a girl they’re actually interested in, don’t you?”

“I’ve heard that somewhere before, but I didn’t really think it applied in this case.”

“Why not?”

“Well, I, uh, can’t really say, I guess. I just never looked at it that way.”

“Teenage boys typically don’t understand what they’re feeling, and don’t know how to deal with that. So they tease and annoy as a way to get attention that they don’t know how to obtain otherwise.”

“But I tried to kill her,” he blurted out.

“Yes, you did. Three times, if I read David’s notes correctly.”

He swallowed heavily. “Yes.”

“And weren’t all three times after you’d begun to consume the potion and been under the spell influence?”

“Yes. It was.”

“And why do you think she was a target?”

“Because she was Potter’s best friend.”

“Is that the only reason? Is it possible that you inadvertently made her more of a target because of your latent interest in her?”

“Oh, Merlin, I never even considered that. If that’s true, then everything that happened to her really was my fault,” he concluded, despairingly.

“No, Draco, that’s not true, and it’s not the point. You were manipulated into harming her because someone saw your interest in her. That was the fault of the person who made and gave you the potions and placed you under the spells. You may feel remorse because of it, but you shouldn’t shoulder the burden of responsibility. That belongs to whoever manipulated you.”

“I’ve heard that before, Doc, and I’m not quite ready to embrace it.”

“Someday you will be. In the meantime, though, tell me about what happened a couple of days ago, starting with what you saw at work.”

“I saw a woman who reminded me of her and it rattled me. I couldn’t get her out of my head all day, and then when I went home, I hopped in the shower. I was thinking about what had happened, and how much Granger was just… in my head. Before I knew it, I was, um, aroused.”

“Then what?”

“I turned on the cold water.”

“Why didn’t you masturbate? No editing - what was going through your head at the time?”

“That I couldn’t do that to her. Reduce her to an object of lust. It would be wrong.”

“But she wasn’t there.”

“No, of course not.”

“So how would you have been using her?”

“I, uh…”

“Draco, why are you afraid to admit to yourself that you are frequently aroused by the thought and image of Miss Granger?”

“Because I’m afraid that I’ll hurt her again, and I’d rather kill myself than be responsible for harming her any more than I’ve already done,” he blurted out.

“Draco, first I want you to remember that the harm that you did to her was caused by someone else. Second, by not giving in to natural urges and needs, you are harming your own physical and mental health. Third, Miss Granger has been very clear about not holding you responsible for the harm that came to her, and was in fact quite kind and compassionate toward you. Do you think she would want you to suffer as you have?”

“But who says I’m suffering?”

“Aren’t you? You’re denying one of life’s most basic needs. That causes pain, depression, anxiety, sleeplessness, irritability, and can potentially cause physical problems on top of the psychosexual ones. All of that can easily add up to real suffering. I’ve asked you once before, but I’m going to ask it again: Are you punishing yourself for what you did by denying yourself this basic pleasure?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I am. It just doesn’t feel right to feel that release when nearly every time I’ve consciously done that was in the context of raping or killing someone,” he stated quietly.

“But that wasn’t your choice, was it?”

“No. It wasn’t.”

“Then it’s time that you start to rebuild your sexual health, Draco, or you’ll be handicapped by what someone forced you to do for a very long time. You were as much a victim as any of the people who were attacked through you. Finding your own forgiveness will be a first step in healing your own sexual trauma.”

“My sexual trauma? I don’t understand.”

“Draco, you’ve acknowledged that your body was used against your will, haven’t you?”

“Yes, I suppose.”

“How is that any different from any victim of sexual assault or rape?”

“Because I was the one doing the attacking,” he reasoned.

“Would you have chosen to do that if you hadn’t been under the influence?”

“No. My mother taught me to respect women. Before I was fed the potion, I never so much as cajoled a girl into activity she didn’t want.”

“So what does that say about your sexual nature, or your sexual identity?”

“I, uh, guess that it’s not in my nature to be abusive or cruel.”

“That’s what you _aren’t_. What are your thoughts on who you are?”

“Who I want to be is someone who can be a respectful and responsible husband and lover.”

“And you aren’t there yet because…” she began, giving him silent encouragement to complete the thought.

“If I can’t get past my fear in even pleasuring myself, how can I hope to have any connection with a woman?”

“You said ‘fear’ in describing your feeling, Draco. You’ve never said that before. No editing – answer with the first thing that comes into your mind. What are you afraid of?”

“That I won’t find pleasure in anything but pain,” he stated, shame warring with angst in his tone.

“How will you know if you don’t try?”


	9. Insights

_**Previously –** _

_She saw a peacefully sleeping child, who had obviously been lifted just seconds earlier from her supine position on the bed, being cradled gently against the chest of a young father, who was blessing her with his first kiss on her forehead and dampening her flaxen hair with his silent tears._

And now…

Hermione was experiencing an intense internal debate. Make her presence known or quietly back away and leave Draco to bond with his daughter? The newly-minted Mind Healer knew that there were benefits and risks to both actions. Joining her daughter and Draco could lead to a broader connection within their little “family” but she was reluctant to send a message that could be misinterpreted. Leaving them would allow a deeper link between the man and his little girl, but would likely exclude her from an opportunity to partake in an undoubtedly healing moment. Her heart finally overruled her mind, and Hermione quietly stepped behind Draco and gently placed a hand on his shoulder in a gesture that was meant to convey comfort.

He started a bit at her touch, having not heard her approach, then relaxed when she squeezed gently, reaffirming the support that she’d just offered. “I don’t understand, Hermione,” he whispered through his tears.

In keeping with the solemn, intimate mood, she whispered in reply, “If I could, I’d help. What are you thinking, Draco?”

He squeezed his eyes shut and tightened the hold he had on his daughter. “How could something so good, so awe-inspiring, come from the horrible thing that I did to you?”

“One of life’s mysteries, Draco. Every burden brings its lessons and rewards. She was my reward,” Hermione stated simply, reaching around him to gently move a curl from her baby’s cheek.

Draco shook his head in disbelief and wonder. “Hermione, you’ve been so kind to me and given me two of the most precious gifts a man could ever want. You forgave my heinous crimes against you, and you bore my heir. How can I ever repay that? How do I deserve to even breathe the same air as you?” There was a sorrowful hint of desperation in his words.

She stepped to her right so that she was better able to see the young man and the child in his arms. She raised her eyebrows and her hands in a silent offer to relieve him of his burden, but he shook his head. “No, please. Let me hold her for a little while longer.”

“Let’s sit then, Draco,” she replied quietly, and offered him the rocking chair while she silently levitated an armchair so that she could sit facing the two platinum-haired Malfoys.

Louisa hadn’t stirred in her father’s arms, sleeping as only small children do, deeply and completely undisturbed by their surroundings. Draco seemed unable to tear his eyes from the girl as he searched her face for his own and her mother’s features. He’d already been shocked – and informed – by the color of her eyes which were an exact match to his own and his father’s. 

Hermione was struggling with what to say in answer to Draco’s earlier question. He deserved an answer, even though it probably wasn’t what he was expecting to hear. “Draco, my forgiving you was as much a gift for me as it was for you. I was always taught that there is healing in forgiveness, and that anger and hatred consume your soul. Once I knew that you had not made those decisions, that the vile things you did were not your choice, it was a simple step to let go of the anger and release both of us from that burden. When I decided to have Louisa, my motivations were my own. Don’t paint me as a saint, because I’m not. I’m happy that you seem to be finding a bond with Louisa, but I didn’t have her for you. I had her for me. However you look at it, I’ve been selfish in this. You may have been a beneficiary of my actions, but that was an ancillary effect.”

Draco didn’t seem deflated by her words. On the contrary, he smiled softly when she finished speaking. “Granger, that’s one of the things I respect most about you. There’s something so good and true about your soul that even when you’re being self-serving, it turns out well for everyone around you. Do you know how rare that is?”

“I’m not that special, Draco,” she argued.

“I beg to differ. I’ve come to think you’re some kind of… angel on this earth. That’s the only explanation for how such wonderful things happen around you, even in the midst of the darkest times. Either that or you’re a Leprechaun. You’re not Irish, are you?” he teased.

“No, I’m not Irish, I’m definitely not a Leprechaun, and I’m most certainly not an angel. Draco, you have to stop putting me on a pedestal. I’ve got feet of clay like anyone else. I’ve done plenty of things that I’m not proud of, and romanticizing two or three compassionate deeds is not realistic.”

“I don’t put you on a pedestal, Hermione. I’m not that naïve. I’ve spent the last two and a half years learning about who I am and what I think and feel. In that process, I’ve also learned about how I view the people around me, and you’re a big part of that. Bigger than I expected.”

Hermione looked at him with trepidation. It almost sounded like he’d developed some kind of… crush on her. God, what a disaster that would be, she thought. “Draco, don’t…”

“’Don’t,’ what, Hermione? Don’t admit that the things that have happened between us weren’t pivotal moments in my life? Don’t recognize that without your forgiveness, I wouldn’t have had the courage to try to become a decent man? Don’t acknowledge that your intelligence and insight helped me to begin to unravel what had really happened to five of the most important developmental years of my life? Don’t notice that you were the person who single-handedly shattered every mistaken perception that I had about the truth of the magical world?”

She sat there, stunned, while he rose from the rocker, Louisa still tucked against his chest, and began to pace the room.

“Granger, you were right earlier when you said that our relationship is complicated. But from my perspective, you don’t know the half of it. Without what you did for me, I’d never have had the courage to begin to forgive myself for all the horrific harm I caused in those five long years. I’m not fully there yet, but I’m on my way, and I’ve promised myself that will make something good out of my life.” He paused as he looked at the sleeping toddler. “This little girl just gives me more incentive to continue on that path, and if you’d made different choices, she wouldn’t be here. The truth is that she may be my only chance at having a family, and I’ll do everything in my power not to waste that gift. No matter how forgiving you’ve been, and how much I can heal myself, there will still not be many people who will want to associate with me for any number of reasons. I will do my best to be a real father to Louisa, and if you’ll allow it, maybe even a friend to you. Those will be few and far between in my life, I fear. So yes, Granger, I may be hanging on a little tight to whatever odd relationship we have, because as strange as it is, there’s something about it that’s still pretty special to me, even when you add up all the things we’ve done to hurt each other.”

Hermione watched Draco still cradling his daughter and tried to process all the things he’d told her. He’d shared some deep and intense thoughts, most of which she’d never have imagined were part of his mindset. That he’d matured and come into his own to a great degree over their three years apart was evident. And he’d clearly done a lot more thinking about how they related to each other than she had. He’d also developed at least some level of emotional attachment to her, if she hadn’t misunderstood his words. That wasn’t entirely shocking; she had done something for him that had changed the likely course of his life. It was normal for him to feel some kind of gratitude for her. What was unsettling was the subtext that there was a bit more to it than him simply feeling thankful. Knowing that he’d been under the care of two skilled psychotherapists for so long gave her comfort that he wasn’t harboring an obsession or fixation, but all his work was done before he knew about Louisa. That had to have had a psychological impact. She swore silently; what kind of idiot had she been not to consider that earlier?

“Draco, I know it’s really none of my business, but would y…”

Her question was interrupted with an amused snort. “Hermione, since when has that ever stopped you from discovering something you wanted to know? I’ve never known anyone as curious and tenacious as you.”

She glared at him, more embarrassed than angry. How did he know her so well? “Well, I’m just a little… surprised that you would want us to be ‘friends’ after everything that’s happened.”

“Why? You’ve told me that you forgave me, and I’ve finally learned to accept that… unless you’ve changed your thinking…”

“No!” she interjected, not wanting him to misinterpret her question. “No, Draco, not at all. I meant it three years ago and I mean it still today. Please don’t think that.”

The look of relief that crossed his face was almost comical in its intensity. “Oh. Good, then. What did you mean?”

“It’s just that we’re from such different backgrounds and lifestyles. Honestly, we barely know each other.”

“I beg to differ, Miss Granger. I think we actually know each other quite well, and that the last three years have actually aided in our getting to understand each other rather fully. I don’t mean the little things, like what our favorite colors and meals might be, but important things, like character and beliefs and conscience.”

“How do you come to that conclusion, Draco?”

“Think about it. You’ve been living with my parents for three years. What better way can you think of to understand how I grew up and what was at the core of my life until it was perverted by that sick witch and her husband? I’ll lay Galleons that my mother and father have been very involved in teaching our daughter what it means to be a pureblood princess, and they’ve ensured that she lacks nothing.”

“Well, there is some truth in what you say, except that Louisa is certainly not a ‘pureblood princess’ in any sense. Her mother is a girl you used to call ‘Mudblood,' if you recall,” she reminded him, but not angrily.

“I’m not being literal, Hermione. And it shouldn’t have escaped your notice that my parents have fully embraced you as one of their own. They treat you as though we’re married. In fact, they treat you better than they would if I had selected you as my bride, I suspect.”

“Draco, it’s true that living here with Lucius and Narcissa has taught me a lot about things that I never knew about the magical world. I’ve learned about many of the traditions and practices that were sadly excluded from our education at Hogwarts. But there are still so many things I don’t know, and will never understand - for example, your father’s little bombshell about our legally recognized ‘association’ under Wizarding tradition, not to mention Louisa’s title and inheritance rights. How can we build even a friendship on such a thin foundation?”

“This,” he nodded at their sleeping daughter, still held firmly against his chest, “is not so thin a foundation, Hermione, and I didn’t know about that ‘association’ tradition any more than you did. I still plan to have that investigated by a family-practice solicitor, because I wouldn’t put it past my parents to create a ‘new tradition’ when it suits their purpose.”

“To what end?” Hermione wondered.

“I couldn’t say, but I know they’re up to something. Surely, you’ve felt that too.”

“Well, they do their fair share of huddling, but I can’t imagine what ulterior motive they’d have.”

“I think you’re being a little naïve, Hermione. Think about it. They are both Slytherins. They are definitely scheming something. Trust me, I’ll figure it out in short order.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Seated in his study, Lucius watched while his wife anxiously paced the floor. “You’ll wear a path in the Persian rug, darling,” he drawled.

“The only reason you’re not pacing with me is the calming factor of the glass of Ogden’s in your hand, darling,” she retorted, emphasizing the endearment mockingly.

“That may be true, but I also recognize that whatever they’re talking about, whatever they’re doing, there’s nothing we can do to… influence them at the moment. They have to get through this together, and the less apparent interference from us, the better. Subtlety, love, is as important as timeliness.”

“Did you see how upset he was?” she pressed. Her anxious, near-whispered tone might have been interpreted as "gossipy" by the casual observer.

“I’m not sure that’s how I would describe it. He seemed more… emotional than upset, in my estimation. Overwhelmed, probably. Think about it, Cissy, he just witnessed the birth of his first child. It’s not something I’ve ever really spoken about, but you know how overcome I was when I saw Draco for the first time.”

“He was quite stunned when he saw Louisa in my arms at Hogsmeade,” she admitted. “He couldn’t speak. I suppose you’re right that witnessing her birth would be at least as shocking as that initial discovery.”

“Trust me, Cissy, it was more than that. While witnessing the miracle of birth is indescribable, she allowed him to see it when she could have easily refused. That’s at least half of his emotion, I’ll wager.”

“You seem so convinced, Lucius. You know I wholeheartedly support the idea – it was mine in the first place – but your confidence in its success far surpasses my own.”

“You’ve always said that you know our son, and you’re undoubtedly right about many of your insights into his behavior, but you forget that there are some things that a son shares with his father that he mightn’t with his mother.”

“And if that’s the case, you’ve been holding out on me, Lucius. What do you know that you’ve not shared with me?” Narcissa asked, both annoyance and curiosity evident in her tone and her cross-armed posture.

“I’d be breaking a confidence to do that, Cissy,” he noted.

“Since when has that ever stopped you before when it suited you to share something?” she needled.

He rose from his seat to refresh his drink, chuckling at her taunt. “Touché, dear. You’re not wrong about that.”

“So?”

“So, maybe it doesn’t suit me to share it at this time, love,” he teased her.

“And why not?” she demanded, the slightest whine creeping into her question.

He laughed aloud at her annoyance, his silver eyes twinkling in the firelight with amusement. “You are so easy to needle, love. It’s a temptation I sometimes find impossible to resist.” He set his crystal tumbler on the table and gathered her into his arms. He noted that it only took two or three seconds and one kiss to her neck for the stiffness in her posture to lessen.

“So will you tell me?” she whispered into his ear while her hand dropped below his belt. She hadn’t decided whether to caress or squeeze; his response would dictate her next move.

Since he was not a fool, Lucius easily read her intentions and went the route of safety. “Of course I’ll tell you, silly goose.” He miscalculated. She squeezed.

“Prat.”

“Ouch!” he exclaimed. “Guess I did deserve that,” he mumbled under his breath as they separated.

“Yes, you did. For being a nasty, rotten tease. Now, tell me what he said,” she ordered.

“Well, it’s not so much what he said as what he asked. Often,” he hinted.

“And that was?”

“He frequently asked after Hermione’s health and well-being, and wondered aloud what she’d been up to,” he revealed.

“That must have been difficult for you to answer,” she noted.

“Yes, especially since he’s become quite skilled in reading between the lines. I’m quite certain he owes that ability to his time in psychotherapy,” he observed.

“From what I understand, he had also becoming exceedingly skilled in both Legilimency and Occlumency,” she remembered aloud.

“That’s true, but he’s used so little magic in the last three years that I feel quite certain he never cast the Legilimency spell around me. He rarely had his wand at hand, Cissy.”

“He’ll probably need to do some brushing up along the way,” she mused.

“Possibly, but he hasn’t seemed anxious to be completely immersed in the magical world again. He certainly had the opportunity while he was still in Salem, but he chose not to do that.”

“He never said anything to me about a deliberate or conscious reason for that. Did he say anything to you?”

“Once. He mentioned that he had a great deal of satisfaction from doing things with his hands. It wasn’t that he was rejecting magic, but augmenting his skill repertoire with Muggle techniques, of all things. He claimed to still use his wand for things that were either exceptionally time consuming or impractical in other ways. Maintenance around a magical house, for example.”

“Well, I suppose that’s reasonable. He did work in a Muggle establishment, and he had to learn to do things that he never would have done, even with a wand. I can’t imagine him having spent any time in our kitchen. I can’t imagine you doing anything there, for that matter,” she observed.

“The only time I’ve been to the kitchen in the last few years was for a series of experiences I’d rather forget.”

“Yes, quite. But Draco’s life is destined to be different than yours, Lucius.”

“Without doubt. And let’s not forget that his daughter’s mother is a Muggle-born. His experience in Salem will help him in relating to her more easily.”

“Somehow, I don’t see that as their biggest obstacle,” Narcissa noted.

“Probably not. That would likely be their remarkably difficult history, no doubt. And I’m still concerned that that obstacle may be an insurmountable one.”

“It’s a reasonable concern, Lucius, but there are other factors that will trump that, I feel quite sure.”

“Our little one,” he offered.

“Yes. As soon as Draco begins to see her as ‘his’ little one, things will move along in the proper direction.”

“As long as we can manage to conceal that one little in absentia decree for a few more months, I don’t see any other major obstacles,” Lucius amended.

“I still can’t believe you did that without even telling me about it first. They’ll both be infuriated if they find out. And it’s more than a few months before a final notice is delivered.”

“Those months are a good thing. They give us – and them – time to… maneuver. And I intend to see to it that they don’t find out until long after they’ve arrived at the same result on their own.”

“And if they don’t?”

“We’ll cross that moat when we come to it,” he averred.

“Since when does a lifelong Slytherin not have a backup plan? This is one instance where I’ve no doubt that you’ll rue the lack of one before we’re through with this.”

“It helps that Hermione and Louisa will be staying with us now.”

“And it would have been easier if Draco had decided to live here too,” Narcissa bemoaned.

“I’m not so sure about that. I see some interesting possibilities in them not being in such close proximity so soon. It may even work to our advantage.”

“Do I hear that contingency plan being hatched, Lucius?” Narcissa needled.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

“She looks so peaceful and comfortable in your arms,” Hermione observed.

“Maybe she understands subconsciously that I’m no threat to her, that there’s a connection between us,” Draco postulated, still unwilling to tear his gaze from the girl.

“It could be; children are so intuitive at her age. She’s young enough that if you develop a strong relationship with her now, she’ll never remember you not being part of her life.”

“Hermione, I can’t pretend that I’m still not overwhelmed about this, and I’d be lying if I said that I’m not upset that she was hidden from me, but I will not waste time and emotional energy being angry with you over that. As you said a little while ago, being angry can consume your soul, and mine has had enough damage for a dozen lifetimes, so I’m not going to allow these circumstances to drag me back into that horrible place. I want to see as many of the memories that you and my parents stored as possible. I think that will help me to get over any resentment.”

“I’m grateful and… relieved that you’re being so reasonable about this, Draco. I’m sorry that the way you found out about her was so abrupt and shocking. That was never my intention. I had a really orderly plan about how I was going to tell you about her and ease the two of you into a relationship, but it’s clear that the universe had other ideas. Maybe there’s a reason that it happened the way it did.”

Draco issued a short, humorless laugh. “The universe has been doing bizarre things to both of us for far too long, Hermione. I’m ready for some stability and normalcy, if it’s all the same to you.”

“You’ll get no argument from me on that one.”

“And I hope that we’ll keep our arguing to a minimum, in general. Louisa deserves to have two parents who can get along with each other well enough to ensure that we’re always keeping her best interests at the forefront. I think we’re both mature enough to keep peace between us for her sake.”

“I couldn’t hope or ask for anything but that. She’s everything to me, and I’ll be flexible enough to work with you if you will do the same for me.”

“Agreed.” He shifted his daughter so that her head was nestled on his shoulder.

“Do you want to put her down to finish her nap? She’ll probably sleep for almost another hour.”

“Can you understand how reluctant I am to let her out of my arms?” Draco asked with a wry smile.

“I’m sure I can. I would hold her for hours on end when she was an infant. The physical touch is part of bonding between a parent and child, so I completely appreciate how you’re feeling about that. You're really comfortable with her already. You seem to be a natural when it comes to handling little ones.”

Draco hesitated for a second. “Yeah. I had the opportunity to get to know a couple of great kids while I was in Salem. Having that relationship with them was a very important part of my growth. I came to see that I really enjoyed spending time with them, and at the same time, it made me sad that it was unlikely I’d ever have children of my own.”

“Why did you think that, Draco? That’s quite a pessimistic view.”

He shrugged in response. “I think it was more realistic, considering my history.”

“Well, the child in your arms proves you wrong.”

Draco looked at her pointedly. “And we both know how she came to be, Hermione. Don’t patronize me.”

“I’m not. Her conception is now irrelevant. When I made the decision to keep her, I had to set aside that fact for both my emotional and physical health. Can you imagine how horrid it would have been if I’d given in to dwelling on that?” She shivered involuntarily. “I don’t know that I’d have delivered a healthy child under those circumstances. It undoubtedly helped that your parents were so supportive and embraced me so fully, but if I had wallowed in self-pity over how we got into that situation, I’d have gone ‘round the bend.”

“Doesn’t it bother you that she wasn’t born into a marriage? That she may be viewed as someone… lesser, because of the way she came to be?” he wondered.

“If that had been my primary concern, do you think I’d have gone through with it? She carries your family name, and has been named your heir. The way I understand it, that’s all that is required for so-called legitimacy under Wizarding law. She’s clearly been accepted – cherished even – by your parents, so if anyone has a problem with her origin, the problem is theirs alone. And since when have I lived up to societal conventions, Draco? If there’s an unconventional witch anywhere, that’s me.”

“You are one in a million, Hermione. There’s no denying that,” he allowed, smirking at her with amusement, and a hint of affection. He turned his attention back to Louisa, who had started to squirm a bit. Her eyes were still firmly closed; she was dreaming. He gently kissed her forehead and stroked her hair. “As reluctant as I am to let go of her, I do agree she’ll be more comfortable in her bed.”

He laid her on the fine lavender cotton sheets and covered her with the warm down blanket. The magical unicorns rested along the fabric’s edges, facing away from the child as though forming a protective perimeter. He leaned over and kissed her cheek once more, and when he straightened, Hermione could see that his eyes were once again bright with tears.

She reached out to grasp his arm in companionship, but he gathered her in for an embrace, much to her surprise. He spoke softly, into her mass of curls. “I know we’ve had our… difficulties, but I want you to know once again how very sorry I am for all the harm I caused to you over the years. With all the good things you’ve done for me, especially the gift of this child, I promise you that I will spend the rest of my life trying to atone for my sins, and trying to make your life a little easier.” He paused for a heartbeat. “Thank you, Hermione, for helping me to salvage my life.” He squeezed her for barely a second, and then abruptly released her, retreating from the room.

She was left speechless. Who was this young man? He looked like Draco Malfoy. He walked like Draco Malfoy. He even sounded like Draco Malfoy. But this was not the same Draco Malfoy she’d known for more than half of her life. This was a Draco Malfoy she might be able to… tolerate.


	10. Justification

Draco was just recovering his footing when Dr. Kate appeared from around the corner, shrugging on her trench coat. She laughed as she saw her boys’ typical greeting to their Saturday morning sitter – a full-blown tackle which usually resulted in one or more of the three males landing in a heap on the floor. “What did I tell you two? If you insist on leaping upon the poor man, at least wait until he’s made it fully out of the Floo,” she scolded.

She turned her attention to the young man. “Thanks for getting here so early again, Draco. You’ve officially made my life easier for another day, and that earns my undying gratitude, especially since this was on such short notice,” she told him with a broad smile.

“While I’ve hardly earned that, I’m happy to contribute to the effort,” he replied with a courtly nod. The early morning owl that had notified him of her unexpected call for a consult at the hospital hadn’t awakened him. He’d just been sipping tea and reading, so the interruption was not really an intrusion.

“David left about twenty minutes ago, and he should be back around half past eleven. As you can see, the boys need to get dressed. They haven’t had breakfast yet, though. Would you mind terribly…?”

“No problem. I’ll get them fed and dressed in no time. You just be on your way. I think I can handle this,” he answered, shooing her out of the room with a wave and a grin. “We have been doing this for almost four months, you know.”

“I know, but I’m a mother. Can’t help it,” she noted with a shrug. “You’ll probably be gone by the time I get back, so I’ll see you Tuesday evening, right?”

“Right. Get going,” he teasingly ordered, pointing his index finger toward the back door.

She grabbed her red umbrella and tan leather satchel and departed with a wave, leaving Draco to sort out the boys’ breakfast.

“Okay, men, I think breakfast first, then a wash-up and getting you dressed for the day. All in favor, say ‘aye,'” Draco ordered.

He was greeted with the requested reply from both Daryl and Thomas, who in his seven-year-old self-awareness, insisted on the use of his full name at all times. Referring to the boy as “Tom” or “Tommy” would not only yield no affirmative response, but might earn the offender a baleful glare and a crackle of nascent, unrestrained magic.

“Thomas, Daryl, what would you say to scrambled eggs with toast?” Draco inquired.

“Will you make it with ham and cheese?” the older boy requested.

“If you wish, and if there’s some in the cold box,” Draco affirmed. Even after working for nearly a year in a restaurant, he still struggled to remember the word “refrigerator.” Draco moved into the now-familiar kitchen and settled the boys into their seats. “Orange juice, or milk?” he offered.

Daryl’s squeak of a voice piped up first. “Juice!” he enthused.

The more serious and staid Thomas then made his request. “I’d like milk, please.”

Retrieving the appropriate glasses from the cupboard, Draco opened the refrigerator to get the boys their beverages, and then rummaged around for the necessary ingredients for his breakfast creation. Eggs, cheddar, country ham, butter, and milk were lined up on the counter-top awaiting his manipulation. “Wheat toast or rye?” he asked, peering into the breadbox.

Both boys wrinkled their noses at the choices. “I want English muffins,” Thomas announced, to be met with Draco’s shrug of resolution.

“Sorry, buddy, but I don’t see any here. Your mum probably needs to buy more,” he informed the child.

“Look in the freezer. Sometimes she keeps extra things in there,” Thomas directed.

Draco lifted an eyebrow at the boy’s skills of observation and at his determination in getting what he wanted. He shrugged once more, this time in resignation. “Okay. I’ll check, but if there’s none, you’ll need to make another choice.” Searching around in the freezer compartment did in fact yield the items the boys had requested, and Draco put the package into the microwave to defrost. Both the presence of that appliance and Draco’s knowledge of its use were testament to the greater integration of Muggle and Magical here in the States, and to how much he’d learned working at The Grapevine.

As he gathered the frying pans and assorted kitchen implements he’d need to make the boys’ breakfast, he had a flash of déjà vu to the moment he’d been slicing and sizzling little pieces of SPAM for a meal for himself and Granger. It caused a shiver to creep up his spine. He deliberately shook it off and refocused on the task at hand. Eggs were cracked into a bowl, then joined by a splash of milk, a pinch of salt, and pepper, all whisked together with a fork. Two small pieces of country ham sizzled in a tiny bit of butter in a skillet on the stove-top. Another skillet heated on another burner, and one more pat of butter melted, awaiting the addition of the eggs. A hiss sounded as they hit the hot surface, and the wooden spoon gently moved the curds about. A generous sprinkling of the cheddar he’d grated finished the simple recipe. The English muffins popped up from the four-slot toaster and were quickly dressed in their own coating of the preferred raspberry jam. Two plates sat before two boys, now silent save for the sounds of their munching and sipping. Their sitter cleaned up the dirty skillets and washed down the counter-tops, settling into a chair beside the boys with a mug of tea.

“So, after we get you two dressed, what would you like to do this morning?” he asked. He noticed the two boys sharing a conspiratorial glance before they returned their full attention to their breakfast plates. Draco crossed his arms over his chest and stretched out his legs, hooking one ankle over the other. “Okay. ‘Fess up. What’s going on here?”

“Daddy said you used to play Quidditch, and flied a broom,” Daryl announced.

“Flew,” Draco corrected. “I flew a broom.” He hesitated for a moment before continuing. “That was a long time ago.”

“But you did? Would you teach us to flew a broom?” Daryl pleaded, his big green eyes wide as saucers and full of anxious hope.

“Fly a broom,” the sitter corrected again. “I’m, uh, not too sure that would be a good idea. It’s been quite some time since I’ve been flying, and I don’t even have a broom here.”

“But Daddy does,” Thomas interjected. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you used it.”

Draco could help the chuckle that escaped. He couldn’t really remember being quite as young as Daryl, but he certainly recalled the first time his own father had allowed him to ride his own training broom. He’d been just a couple of months older than Thomas was now, and it was one of the most memorable events of his life, having resulted in a broken arm – quickly healed – and thoroughly wounded pride. It was a very special memory that, regardless of the disaster that it had been, he cherished because it had been a father and son bonding moment. As much as he didn’t want to disappoint his eager charges, Draco wouldn’t presume to rob that from Dr. David and his sons.

“Well, as much as I would like to, it looks like it’s going to rain today, so flying is out of the question. I think your dad would be upset if we took a broom out in a storm. So, let’s think of something else that we can do,” he suggested.

“If the weather’s going to be bad, maybe you could read us a story, or we could watch something on TV,” Thomas suggested, as the three moved to the boys’ bedrooms to select appropriate clothing for the day.

“I vote for reading. How about you, Daryl?” Draco asked, helping Daryl to push his arms through the warm sweatshirt he’d chosen to wear. It was emblazoned with the boy’s favorite team’s logo, the embroidered red stockings that Draco had first seen many months earlier.

“That’s good. Not at good as flying, I guess, but kinda good,” he assessed as he reached down to tug on his own white cotton socks and a pair of jeans.

Draco couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped and led the now dressed boys to the family room, where each boy picked two books for their sitter to read aloud. He took a spot in the center of the large sectional sofa, with one boy flanking him on either side.

More than two hours later, the three were found napping there by David Roy, his sons cuddled with his patient. He cleared his throat, waking Draco immediately, while the boys slept on.

“Sorry, Doc, I guess we all dozed off,” Draco apologized.

“Anyone who can get those two to calm down for more than ten straight minutes is doing fine in my book, Draco. They’ve obviously become very comfortable with you,” he observed.

“They’re good kids. I enjoy spending time with them, too,” Draco replied with an embarrassed shrug.

“Of course I’m biased, but I think you’re right. I also think you’ve been a good influence on them,” he expressed.

Draco’s look of confusion and self-doubt was easy to read.

“Don’t be so surprised. You have a lot of patience with them, and that’s something that can sometimes get lost in the everyday shuffle with Kate and me. They respond well to you because you take time to listen to them and react to them without judgment. It’s not a bad lesson to take for yourself, Draco.”

“I don’t understand, Doc.”

“You know, I wouldn’t object at all if you called me by my name; many of my patients do,” David noted, knowing as he spoke that the highly traditional Draco wouldn’t be likely to take the offer. He noted the young man shaking his head in refusal already.

“I ca…”

David raised a hand. “I know, but if and when you’re ready, feel free. To answer your question, though, what I meant is that it would be good for you to show as much patience with yourself as you do with them. When you show the capacity for that with someone else, you ought to give the same gift to yourself.”

“Maybe they’re still teaching me how,” Draco mused, glancing at the two children still sleeping on either side of him.

“How so?”

“They’re so trusting, but they also notice everything. They keep me on my toes because it means that I have to be very deliberate with everything I do. That slows me down and makes me think. I guess I’m trying to be respectful of what is potentially helpful and harmful to them, because they’ve been placed in my care.”

“Is your own care any less important?”

“Well, I know the answer you hope I would say is ‘no,’ but if I’m to be completely honest with you, I’m not there yet.”

“Although I’m disappointed to hear that, I’m not surprised. That doesn’t mean that you haven’t made emotional progress in other areas, though, Draco. What does it tell you that you’re thinking of someone else before yourself?”

“I guess it means that I’m able to care, and to understand that my actions have real impact. That’s probably good, huh?”

“Definitely good,” David confirmed as he approached the sofa to help Draco disentangle from the two boys who still hadn’t relinquished their sleepy hold.

Draco gathered up the smaller boy and hefted him on his shoulder. “I’ll put Daryl down on his bed, but I’d guess they won’t sleep much longer. It’ll be time for lunch soon,” he told David in a whisper.

“I’m sure you’re right. The minute the clock strikes noon, they'll be ready to eat. When I was their age, my appetite wasn’t nearly as voracious as theirs, but I didn’t have a brother constantly pushing me. My older sister always had her nose in a book,” David revealed. He noted the shadow that passed over Draco’s features at his comment. “What?” he pressed.

“Is this an extra therapy session?” Draco asked with a hint of his trademark smirk.

“Not necessarily, but it’s clear that something about what I said hit a nerve. Consider it friendly curiosity, if you like.”

Draco finished the task of covering Daryl with a light blanket before turning to face his therapist again. “If I’m to be completely honest, two things hit me about what you said. First was that I was thinking how different my life might have been if I’d had a sibling, but my parents could never have another child. And your comment about your sister reminded me of Granger. When we were in school, I don’t think I ever saw her without a book,” he noted. The thought seemed to amuse him, David interpreted.

“Did you ever talk to your parents about your loneliness as a boy?”

“I don’t recall having any specific conversation, but I vaguely remember at least twice when I was quite young – probably between four and six years old – that my mother had been pregnant, but lost the child to miscarriage. I guess that they eventually stopped trying. I remember there was a deep… sadness around the Manor for quite some time.”

“What do you imagine would have been different about your life if you’d had a brother or sister?”

The young man shrugged. “I really haven’t any idea. I can’t say that I’ve given it any deep thought. Most of my friends, or I should say ‘associates,’ when I was a child were only children themselves. That’s fairly common among pureblood families, so I guess I didn’t really give it much thought until quite recently, as I’ve watched Thomas and Daryl interact.”

“And what has that taught you or caused you to wonder?”

Draco accepted the mug of tea that David offered and sat with him at the family’s kitchen table. He swirled a little milk into the brew, watching it change color slightly as he thought about the man’s question. “It makes me wonder about companionship, and what it might feel like to know there’s someone who really shares the bulk of your life experiences, who can understand you without explanation. The blood bond is one factor, but I think the common perception is a stronger pull.”

“So, if I’m hearing you correctly, you’re telling me that it felt – and still feels, to some extent – isolating to be an only child, to not have someone who shares your life experience.”

“Yes, that’s part of it. I suppose there’s a little envy there, too,” Draco admitted.

“How could you find a way to fill those voids in your life now?” David pushed.

“Well, it helps to spend time with your boys. They really do fulfill some need in me. I couldn’t tell you what that is, but I know that I always feel more… content after spending time with them.”

“That’s great, Draco, and I would venture a guess that spending time with them fulfills more than one type of need, but some of that is you living vicariously through their interaction. What about connections that you can build for yourself?”

“I’m still finding it… challenging to build friendships here. I think part of it is because I know that my time here is limited. I’ll be going back to Great Britain in less than two years, and I don’t know if I’m emotionally strong enough to create a relationship only to have to leave it in such a short time.”

“Who says you have to leave it? Or here, for that matter? What are you protecting by staying isolated?”

“Technically, I guess there’s no reason that I’d have to leave Salem, or any friendships that I might develop here, but I know that my real home is in England, and there are family responsibilities that I cannot – and will not – ignore. The Malfoy business empire is something that I’ll need to control one day. I don’t know that I’m protecting anything. I think I’m just not emotionally ready to invest more in friendships beyond what I’ve developed with the boys, and I guess that also goes to the trust that’s been built between me and my two fine therapists,” Draco acknowledged.

“And you still haven’t made any steps toward dating, as we’ve discussed several times.”

“No,” Draco stated firmly.

“You sound even more definitive about that than usual. What’s going on there?”

“It’s not fair to toy with someone’s affections when my head is so full of someone else.”

“Just your head, Draco?”

“That, Doc, is the question of the year.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The small gathering at Malfoy Manor was convened to mark the formal naming of Louisa’s godparents. At four months old, the infant was now readily responding to familiar voices, faces, and scents, and she was gurgling and cooing at every opportunity. The current target of her vocalization – and the grasp of her tiny fist – was her newly recognized godfather, Neville Longbottom, who had just claimed the child from her godmother, Ginny Weasley.

The circle of guests was limited to Louisa’s grandparents, godparents, and the handful of people who knew the entire story of how the child had entered the world. The Tonks family, Harry and Luna Potter, and Ron Weasley were all in attendance. Hermione had felt that it was important to uphold tradition to ensure that, should anything happen to her, Louisa would be raised in Wizarding custom, and by people who knew her mother well. The fact that Ginny had spent years learning about the Muggle world under her father’s admittedly somewhat skewed guidance also ensured that the child’s other heritage would not be entirely forgotten.

The conspicuous, though expected, absence of Louisa’s father was not discussed. Everyone there knew how the child had been conceived and had respected Hermione’s wishes to keep the circumstances to themselves. They all knew why she had elected to keep the baby, and to conceal her existence from Draco. None of them would be sharing the information with him, or with anyone else. Let the public come to what conclusions they might, but the Malfoy family was presenting a firmly united front in making the simple one-line announcement of the birth of a daughter to Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger. No additional details had been, or would be, forthcoming anytime soon.

A light luncheon had followed Louisa’s official naming ceremony and the binding to her godparents. The collection of people around the table would have raised eyebrows – and wands – mere months earlier, but new perspective and new information allow new alliances. While the Weasleys would never be friendly with the Malfoys, a truce of sorts had been declared, and there had been several cordial visits from Ginny. Ron was still wary, but civil. Lucius and Arthur were now collaborators again on a handful of Ministry committees dedicated to the rebuilding and reconciliation of the Wizarding world, and had found their way to collegiality. Narcissa and Molly had agreed to co-chair a committee on fund raising for the substantial repairs and improvements still needed both at St. Mungo’s and throughout Hogsmeade. The celebratory meal embraced the new relationships, and conversation flowed, if not easily, then at least without long, awkward silences.

Hermione had not understood until very recently the depth of the responsibilities and connection of Wizarding godparents and their godchildren. It far surpassed what was largely an honorary role in the Muggle world. Narcissa had explained the traditions many weeks earlier, and counseled Hermione to make her choices carefully, as the man and woman she selected would have a profound impact on her daughter’s life for many years to come. They would be expected to act as counselors and surrogate parents if any occasion arose where her own parents were unavailable or less knowledgeable on a topic of concern. That both people Hermione selected were purebloods was completely coincidental, though Lucius had seemed inordinately pleased, even considering that one was a Weasley.

Narcissa had been relishing her new role as a grandmother and regaled their guests with stories of Louisa's latest gurgle, turn, and grasp. Lucius frequently teased her that she'd been more involved with this child than she had with Draco when he was born. She reminded him that she'd nearly died in childbirth and was now, thankfully, in full health and much, much wiser than she'd been twenty-four years earlier. The idea of leaving the child to house-elves for more than a few moments was now unthinkable. She further retorted that he had no room to talk; he'd been a similarly doting grandparent to the girl and had frequently been caught rocking and talking to her.

Now that Hermione had returned to her education, both grandparents spent even more time with their little angel, and the young mother sometimes had to vie for time when she returned from classes. Hermione had expressed how grateful she felt that the research projects she'd undertaken during the war had gone a long way to keeping her revision skills strong. She'd passed her N.E.W.T.s easily and gained admittance to the Mind Healer training program without difficulty. Now only two weeks into her training, she'd told Narcissa that she felt like she'd never left the classroom. She'd already distinguished herself as a top student and was well on her way to completing the program at the top of her class.

Her friends hadn't challenged Hermione's choices, but if asked, they would express a certain unease with her decision to conceal Louisa's existence from Draco. In private discussion, they noted that it was unfair that Hermione shoulder the entire burden. Only Ginny had been forceful in defending the decisions her best friend had made, and in recognizing the substantial aid, both moral and financial, given by Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. Ginny was also especially supportive of Hermione's decision to become a Mind Healer. She saw both the short-term benefits of a new focus and the long-term wisdom of a career that would offer Hermione complete independence from the Malfoys should she choose it. It seemed, though, that the bonds between the young witch and her daughter’s grandparents had grown strong, so a full separation from them appeared unlikely. Of course, there was still a major unresolved element that would need to be addressed if and when the Malfoys' son returned to England at the conclusion of his Ministry-imposed exile.

That eventuality was the topic of conversation between Narcissa and her sister Andy when the other guests had finally taken their leave. “What did he say when you spoke with him yesterday?” his surviving aunt wondered.

“He was in relatively good spirits. Apparently, he's been paying for some of his therapy sessions by minding his counselors' children on Saturday mornings, and he's developed quite an attachment to them.”

“That's a creative approach. Do you know what kind of therapy he's receiving?”

“He doesn't say an awful lot about it to me, only that he's seeing two different therapists who are certified as Mind Healers as well as having the Muggle credential of 'psychologist,' which apparently requires a very advanced level of study. They also happen to be husband and wife. He started out seeing one, who recommended after a couple of sessions that he add a second counselor. I must admit, I was a bit concerned to hear that.”

“Draco's not told you anything about what the differences are between the two?”

“No, he hasn't said a word to me about it, other than that he's satisfied with his progress, but he does speak with his father a bit more... openly about some of his problems and concerns. If you think about some of the issues with which he was burdened, I suppose that's not terribly surprising.”

“You mean...” Andy's voice trailed off while her eyes made pointed contact with her sister.

“Yes. I don't think Draco and I have ever had a single conversation about... physical relations, which is probably to his emotional detriment. You know how we were raised, Andy. Mothers don't talk to their sons about sex.” She whispered the last sentence, even though there was no one there to overhear their chat. “For that matter, fathers don't really have much to say on the matter, if what Lucius has told me is accurate. They had only one conversation when Draco was about twelve years old, and if you think about it, that's probably too young for him to really comprehend much. It seems that they've spoken a bit in the last several months, but if I'm reading between the lines clearly, I'd guess that one of Draco's therapists is solely focused on repairing his, uh, sexuality.”

Andy couldn't help but blush a little. Sex was not an openly discussed topic in the Wizarding world in her generation, and only a little less taboo in the Muggle world. She had heard vague references from her daughter about some of the things that her deceased sister had compelled her nephew to do, and even those shadowy concepts were horrifying.

“I can't imagine what the treatment for that might be, and frankly, I'm quite certain that I don't want to know. I just feel so awful that he's been saddled with all of these problems by someone who should have been shielding and protecting him.”

“The only good news there is that she'll never hurt anyone again,” Narcissa added quietly.

“Who won't hurt anyone?” Hermione interjected as she entered the room, a sleepy, yawning Louisa cradled in her arms.

The sisters traded a look before Andy answered. “Our late elder sister.”

“Ah. Yes, well I hope it won't offend you if I say that's one death I do not mourn,” Hermione noted.

“No offense taken, dear. There are far fewer who mourn her death than celebrate it, I'd venture to say,” Narcissa observed. “You may count me among the latter. So many ills and sadnesses can be laid at her feet, not the least of which is that my son won't even know his first-born child for the foreseeable future.”

Hermione heard the implied message, but chose not to either take offense nor take the bait to be drawn into a debate over the merits – or follies – of her decisions. She acknowledged the comment with nothing more than a hum.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Kate Roy settled in to review her notes before her next patient arrived for his appointment. Today would be a particularly important session, as she'd given him the first of his true “homework” assignments at their last meeting. This was often the single most awkward discussion between a therapist and her patient, and she anticipated that would certainly be the case with young Mister Malfoy. He had made progress, but it had been agonizingly slow and in the smallest increments. She hoped this next step would help him to experience at least a minor breakthrough.

Draco's appointment with her husband the previous day had contained a couple of hints to his state of mind and his level of compliance with his therapists' instructions. While David hadn't – by design – discussed exactly what Draco's assignment had been, nor its results, he had asked whether he'd progressed to his “exercises” and had received an affirmative response. That was welcome news, but Kate had no doubt that the young wizard would find it... excruciating to discuss.

The buzzing intercom interrupted her musing and she told Hillary to send her next patient back to her office. The door opened less than two minutes later when Draco Malfoy made his entry.

“Good evening, Dr. Kate,” he greeted her.

“Draco, thanks for waiting. Come on in and make yourself comfortable,” she instructed. “Would you like some tea or coffee?”

“No, thanks. I'm fine,” he replied, taking a seat in the leather armchair that was separated from hers by a small glass table.

“Today we're going to spend most of our session talking about your homework, Draco. I know that you'll probably find this a bit difficult to discuss, but I'm going to ask you to stay focused on the goals you've set and on just sharing what's worked and what hasn't. Remember the rules: if it becomes too difficult, you can close your eyes when you speak. Okay? Any questions before we dive in?”

“No, I think I'm, uh, as ready as I'll ever be,” Draco answered around the knot in his throat.

“Good. So, repeat for me what your assignment was.”

“I was to record the circumstances around any time that I felt a, um, sexual urge during this week, and at least once, I was to see it through to completion,” he finished in a rush.

“Correct. Good. So did you bring your notes with you?” she prompted.

“I did,” he affirmed, pulling a rolled piece of parchment out of his pocket.

“So, tell me what happened this week.”

Draco suddenly found his shoes very interesting, and focused all of his visual attention on the stitching that joined the soles to the fine leather uppers. He was, however, mentally focused on his therapist's question, and began to speak. “It was a fairly typical week. I had normal erections when I woke up every day. I had dreams with sexual components three times, one of which resulted in a spontaneous orgasm.” He paused for a moment, searching for the words to tell the remainder of his story without being consumed by the desire to be swallowed up by the earth. His hesitation was lengthy enough that his counselor felt that it would be prudent to interrupt.

“Draco, you sound as clinical as a three-day therapists' convention. You're giving me facts, but you aren't telling me a thing,” she challenged.

His reply was barely a whisper. “I know. It's just so... difficult to talk about. It doesn't matter how many times you and I meet and talk about these things, it's not in my nature to discuss such intensely personal topics. I recognize that it helps me, and I'm not disputing that at all. It's just...”

“I know how challenging this is for you, Draco. And I'm guessing, based on how much you're stalling, that you probably have something significant to share. How about you take a nice deep breath, and just tell me what happened?”

“I had a dream about her, and I woke up before I climaxed,” he confessed, swallowing hard. “It was so real...”

_The dinner they'd shared had been fabulous. He had cooked for her again, the third time in a week, this time preparing a shrimp and asparagus risotto with crusty French bread and a white chocolate mousse for dessert. A lovely bottle of crisp, chilled pinot grigio had accompanied their meal. She had smiled at him so sweetly as he reached across the table to take her hand. He had brushed a kiss against her knuckles, never losing eye contact with the woman who had so thoroughly captured his attention._

_“That was delicious, Draco. It never ceases to amaze me how much your culinary skills have improved over fried SPAM and warmed-up beans,” she noted with a bright laugh._

_“I'd have never even gone that far without your patient and expert tutelage, I fear,” he complimented her. “You have been my inspiration for most of the progress I've made in the last year.” His expression was earnest and sincere._

_“There must have been something good in you to work with, or you'd never have progressed so well. You've begun to build a good life for yourself, Draco, and it makes me so happy that you're finding peace. Whatever I might have done for you was just a little nudge in a more... productive direction.”_

_“But still, whatever I do, I do with you in my heart,” he confessed. That same heart soared and beat a little faster when she leaned across the table to place a brief, tender kiss on his smiling lips._

_She rose first, her fingers lacing with his. The embrace she offered was warm and so much more than simply friendly. Her arms wrapped around his ribcage and delicate fingers softly caressed his back from shoulder to waist. Draco's arms enveloped her slim shoulders and he buried his nose in the cloud of chestnut curls that topped her head. She tilted her head back to look into his steely eyes, finding a heat there that she was learning to recognize and appreciate. He pressed gentle kisses to her forehead, her nose, her eyelids, her cheeks, her ears, her chin, before finally meeting her mouth with his own. He softly nipped at her full, rosy bottom lip and she responded with a shuddering breath, opening her mouth to deepen the kiss he'd initiated. He held her close, relishing the simple feel of her body flush against his nearly as much as the fact that she was eagerly returning his kiss. There was no hesitation in her response, and no doubt that she welcomed his arms around her when her own were clutching at him to bring him ever closer._

_Zealous kisses became feverish as her gentle hands added to the moment's urgency when she began to knead the taut muscles of his shoulders, biceps, chest. Draco groaned deep in his throat with want and need as her fingers trailed down his sides and rested at his hips. The involuntary twitch revealed his now obvious desire, pressed firmly against her abdomen._

_“Draco,” she breathed as he trailed warm, wet kisses from the spot behind her earlobe to the junction of her neck and shoulder, alternating tiny nibbles with flicks from the tip of his tongue. The resulting shiver brought gooseflesh up and down her arms and torso. He whispered his plea in her ear, “Gods, Hermione, let me love you?”_

_Her answer was given in the desperate crush of her lips to his, her hands threading through his hair to hold him near. She didn't seem terribly surprised when he lifted her into his arms and carried her down the hallway of his flat to his modest, tasteful bedroom. When Draco set her on her feet beside his bed, she once again trailed her hands down his sides, this time capturing the hem of his jumper and tugging it up and over his head. She ran fingers over his lean, pale chest, playing with the lightest dusting of blond hair that she found on his pectorals and trailing down from his navel. She thought he was built like a swimmer, his muscles sinewy and long, with little bulk except in his square, broad shoulders and his surprisingly strong arms._

_Hermione placed her right hand on his left shoulder to steady herself, and reached down to pull off her shoes, instantly reducing her height by three inches. She stretched up slightly on tiptoes to pepper kisses along his jawline. He bent, easing her access and then capturing her earlobe between his teeth. She gasped in surprise as his warm breath against her neck sent new shivers down her spine._

_His fingers found the mother-of-pearl buttons on her cream-colored silk blouse and teased each fragile fastening open until her flushed skin was exposed to his view. Her lingerie was not designed to titillate, but neither was it purely serviceable. He noted the pale pink silk, edged in pink lace, that was not terribly different from the color of her skin. Gently, he edged a thumb along the bottom of the garment, stroking the fabric along with the flesh it contained. He bent once more to trail warm breath and kisses along her decollete and to the swell of her breast. He waited for her silent permission to proceed, and was rewarded for his patience when she released her hold on his arms to unfasten the clasp behind her back. When she was fully exposed to his view, he drew in a breath as though it were the first time he'd seen such a beautiful, arousing sight._

_He pulled her close once more to embrace her, his soft mews of pleasure telling that he relished the feel of her skin, soft and yielding, against his own. His fingers traced a path along her spine, causing her to shudder with delight. He knelt at her feet then, pressing kisses to her breasts, ribs, belly. He found the button and zipper of her trousers and met her eyes, requesting her assent. She smiled and nodded, running her fingers once more through his silky blond hair. He concentrated on his task for a moment and tugged her trousers over her hips, allowing them to fall to the floor. She stepped out of them while holding his shoulders for balance. Draco wrapped his arms around her hips and rested his head against her abdomen, leaving light kisses from hip to hip and along the waistband of her pale pink silk knickers._

_Hermione backed away from him toward the bed and perched on the edge of the mattress, tugging him up from his knees. She watched his eyes glaze slightly as she reached for his belt, releasing the buckle and tugging it free of the loops on his trousers. His arousal was evident in the strained fabric at his zipper. She gently ran a finger along its length, causing him to twitch and gasp in response. Hermione didn't hesitate further; the fastenings were released seconds later and she repeated his earlier action by tugging the fabric over his narrow hips. He quickly toed off his shoes and socks, kicking his legs free of the puddled garment. She leaned back onto the bed, propped on her elbows, as he kissed his way up from her ankles to her knees, over her thighs and to the cradle of her hips. He joined her on the bed and tugged her to him so that they were resting face to face, he on his left side, she on her right. She lifted her left leg to trail along his right, tugging his hips closer to hers as a result. The thin fabric of her silk knickers and his cotton boxers did little to conceal their mutual need and readiness. She pressed against him and felt his hips buck against her instinctively. She reached for him and grasped his length through the remaining barrier, caressing her thumb over his swollen glans. He groaned in reply and reached for her center, stroking gently against the silk that separated him from her treasure. Kissing her seemed to become more important than air to Draco, and he cherished and worshiped her mouth while running gentle and reverent fingers along her willing, yielding body. She tugged on the waistband of his undergarment, silently encouraging him to remove it as she removed her own. She pushed against his shoulder, guiding him to his back as she crawled over his mid-section, straddling his thighs. He reached for her, trailing a long, slim finger along her opening and finding her center hot and wet. His strong hands grasped her hips, lifting her over his erection..._

“And then I woke up, aching. Regardless of what my assignment was, I had to do it. Her face was in my head and I could practically feel and taste her right there with me. I, uh, brought myself to orgasm,” Draco told his therapist, never meeting her eyes, never raising his head from the view of his shoes.

“Other than the obvious, how did you feel about that?”

Kate was surprised when Draco let out a bark of a laugh and shook his head with a smile.

“What? Did I miss something?” she probed.

“Just an echo of a conversation between Granger and me. It was something that happened when we were trapped at the cottage. Not really important, it's just that she asked me the same question with regard to a... similar occurrence.”

Kate widened her eyes in surprise. “Have you been holding out on me? Did something actually happen between you and Miss Granger when you were trapped in Surrey?”

Draco shook his head again, this time in denial. “No, other than the event just minutes before we were rescued that I told you about earlier. What she was referring to was a dream that I had as I was coming out from under the potions' influence. It, uh, caused a spontaneous orgasm, and because I also had a pretty intense withdrawal episode, we talked about it. I know that sounds a little... strange, but it was actually a key turning point in both of us understanding what was going on.”

“I see. So the two of you shared some very personal and intense conversation along with the... difficulties,” she confirmed.

“Yes, I'd say that's true. Granger is unfathomably intelligent, and she was instrumental in helping me unravel what had happened to me.”

“You've mentioned that before, but I don't think I understood just how intensely personal some of the things you shared were. We'll come back to that later,” she advised, making a brief scribble in her notebook. “For now, I want to go back to the experience we were discussing. How did it make you feel?”

“Well, other than the obvious,” he smirked around his words, “I felt... connected. Like I was part of something bigger and more important than just myself. I know that probably sounds odd, but it's the best description I could give you.”

“That's kind of an interesting juxtaposition, don't you think?”

“I suppose you're right. It was a very... isolated and personal event, but for some reason, it made me feel like I wasn't... alone.”

“How do you think that feeling was related to the fact that it was Miss Granger in your dream?”

“I'm starting to think that there are a couple of layers to that. Part of it is that she's been so much a part of some of the most pivotal moments of my life in a way that no one else but my parents can claim. If I think about the situations and conversations we have in my dreams, I wonder if they are reflective of the kinds of conversations that I would like to have with her, on a subconscious level. I mean, are my dreams an actual depiction of what I really want in my life?”

“Only you can answer that for sure, Draco, but I'd guess that many elements of your dreams are at least somewhat connected to things you'd like to have in your life. The bigger question is about the details. Have you given any more thought to why it's always and only Miss Granger who appears in those dreams?”

“Doc, I think that's the bottom line I've been trying to reach. I'm not obsessed with thinking about her; it's not like I have stalker-like thoughts about her. She's just... there. I feel linked to her somehow, and I sometimes feel torn between wanting her to be a constant part of my life and wanting to banish her from my thoughts forever. It's really only been in the last couple of months that I could even come close to admitting it to myself, but it's a confusing place to be, made that much more so by my apparent... physical attraction to her.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because the only time I really feel aroused is when she's somehow part of the equation. I can appreciate other women as attractive, and understand how other men might go for them, but they just don't interest me in any way. It troubles me because I don't understand what that's supposed to mean.”

“Draco, I'm going to borrow a tactic from my partner again and ask you to answer his standard question. You remember the rules: no editing, no over-thinking, the first three words that come to mind. How do you feel about Miss Granger today?”

“Attracted, confused, connected.”


	11. Kinship

After leaving Hermione and his daughter, Draco retreated to the room that had been his childhood refuge. The suite appeared virtually the same as it had the last time he'd seen it three years earlier. It was clear that his mother had instructed the house-elves to maintain the space as though it would be occupied at any moment. He removed his wand from the cloak that had been draped across the back of an armchair and swished it to stoke a fire in the hearth. While he'd never forgotten the lesson Hermione had given him in Muggle fire-starting techniques, in the late March chill, he appreciated the ease and speed of the task using magic.

He dropped heavily onto the loveseat facing the hearth, his uncharacteristic lack of grace a telling sign of his emotional weariness. He stared at the flickering flames, trying to absorb everything he'd learned in the past few hours. _I'm a father_ , he thought, feeling a mixture of awe, shock, and carefully restrained hope. _She gave me a daughter – a family._ He felt the tears of raw emotion that he'd been holding back begin to trail down his cheeks. The idea was utterly overwhelming and as unexpected as a snowstorm in August.

Watching the child’s entry into the world had been a revelation. He recognized the additional gift that Granger – no, Hermione, he mentally corrected – had given him in allowing him to witness the memory. He wondered if she’d had that in mind, even subconsciously, when she’d tucked the vial among the others. Despite everything he’d done to her, she’d continued to give to him, and he couldn’t help but wonder why. Was it just in her nature to give to everyone around her, or was he the beneficiary of her emotional generosity disproportionately? It certainly felt that way, especially in the wake of this day’s many surprises. In spite of his frustration and disappointment at learning that Louisa’s existence had been concealed from him for so long, he knew that there were other things still concealed, and he resolved to keep those things to himself for a little while longer. As complicated as things had been between them, they had just become even more convoluted; adding to the twisted threads now would do none of them any favors.

“What now, though?” Draco mumbled. “Where do we go from here?” He swiped at his cheeks, brushing away the wetness supplied by his tears. Anxious energy caused him to vault out of his seat and pace around the room. His thoughts raced as he considered his parents’ role in this debacle. There was no doubt in his mind that there was more to the story; Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were never simple about anything. As much as they’d played him, he was also confident that Hermione had been similarly manipulated. He had a guess or two about their intent, but no evidence or solid information to draw upon. The big unknown was their motivation. What did they really hope to achieve, and why? Further conversation with the two of them would be necessary, he resolved. 

Draco also had his own plans to consider. He’d been thoroughly committed to finding a place of his own and trying to rebuild a life for himself upon his return to Great Britain. All of those plans now seemed to be in limbo. He now had to account for Louisa’s needs and, by extension, Hermione’s. It was clear that his parents had been handling their financial well-being, and he knew from their earlier conversation that funds had been set in trust for both Granger and her – no, our, he edited himself for the umpteenth time – daughter.

He’d learned so much during his time in Salem, and he’d come to enjoy using the new skills he’d developed. His ambition – to open and operate a restaurant of his own – seemed unrealistic now, at least for the foreseeable future. The enormous investment of time such a venture would require would take away from the time he knew he wanted, and needed, to bond with Louisa and make amends to Hermione. His passion for cooking would have to be satisfied in more limited ways. Draco smiled in amusement at the thought of preparing a meal for Hermione, as he’d done in his dreams on countless occasions. He couldn’t help feeling optimistic that she’d likely be at least a little bit impressed at how far he’d come from the day when she’d had to tell him that the rectangular metal box was a stove. Coming to terms with the fact that he wanted to impress her was the hard part.

Draco comforted himself with the thought that, no matter what he decided to do, he now had the luxury of a little time, due in large part to the reinstatement of his inheritance. With the new developments he’d discovered, no one would begrudge him some breathing room to make decisions in light of his new circumstances. There were still many questions to be asked and answered before some of those decisions could be made with clarity, and he would be contacting the family solicitors quickly to gain a better understanding of exactly what his father had done in his absence, and what his rights and obligations were with regard to his daughter. The thought caused a spontaneous shiver to travel the length of his spine.

Moving to the desk that sat against the north wall between two narrow floor-to-ceiling windows, each draped with emerald green velvet, Draco removed parchment, quill, and ink from their respective drawers and, with new-found determination, began to compose a list.

_**File paternity claim with Ministry**_ , he wrote in his bold, flowing script. While he could claim no pride in how his daughter was created, he would be forever proud of her existence; he’d have no one ever think otherwise by having any delay in acknowledging her as his own. That led to another thought. _**Compose press release for Hermione’s approval**_ , he added. It didn’t need to be a front-page announcement, but he’d not be shy about letting the world know he welcomed Louisa into the Malfoy family. Next, he added, _**Family solicitor – make Will providing for Louisa and Hermione, examine Father’s filings, ask about “association” and familial rights and/or obligations.**_ Draco was determined to have a clear understanding of how he and Hermione would need to legally coexist as Louisa’s parents while unmarried. That prompted another thought. _**Effect of marriage or additional children**_ , Draco penned. He recalled his father’s earlier comments on Louisa’s obligations should she retain the formal role as Draco’s heir, but it seemed clear that there was more to understand on that front.

Draco paused for a moment, his gaze tracking around his childhood bedroom. The day had been long and undeniably emotional, and he glanced longingly in his mental and physical exhaustion at the bed that he knew to be incredibly comfortable and welcoming. It finally dawned on him that the six hour time difference was also taking its toll. In his excitement over his return followed by the day’s events, he’d been without sleep for nearly twenty hours. It would make sense to stay here just for tonight, he concluded, and then enlist the aid of his father’s house-elves in the morning to move his personal belongings and a few favored furnishings to the London property they’d all agreed he would use for the next several months. _**Move my things to townhouse**_ ****, he noted, followed by _ **Refurbish room for Louisa**_. He hesitated only a moment before adding _**and Hermione**_ ****. His next to-do item was eminently practical: _ **Visit Gringotts for an account review**_.

Thinking that he’d covered the most critical items that would need to be addressed over the next few days, Draco decided that the beckoning of his old bed was too much to resist. He called a house-elf and gave instructions to tell his mother that he’d stay for dinner and overnight, and that he would be taking a short rest. As the tiny creature disappeared from his room with a barely-heard pop, Draco sat on the edge of the bed and removed his shoes. He stood to disrobe, remembering that his clothing had not been unpacked; he’d had no firm plan for where he’d stay tonight when he’d arrived. It would not do to appear at dinner with his clothing rumpled and looking disheveled. He draped his shirt and trousers over the cedar-lined chest at the foot of his bed and slid under the down-filled duvet. Despite all of the conflicting and complicated thoughts swirling in his head, Draco succumbed to his fatigue within minutes.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hermione sat with Narcissa in the small parlor that was part of her private suite in the Malfoys’ home. While it wasn’t terribly unusual for both ladies to be sipping a libation at half four in the afternoon, it also wasn’t an everyday occurrence. The cognac that warmed their throats now was a decidedly welcome distraction from all the day’s drama.

“After the initial shock, he was much more charitable and broadminded than I’d ever have been in his place,” Hermione offered. “I have to respect that.”

“It’s clear that my son has matured dramatically in the last three years. I know he’s upset, and probably still a little angry, but he’s accepted what’s happened and seems to be ready to move forward,” Narcissa acknowledged.

Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “About that, Narcissa. Has Draco ever said anything to you about what he wanted to do when he got back from Salem?”

“Not in any level of detail, at least not to me. What he and his father have discussed, I couldn’t tell you. Why do you ask?” Narcissa wondered.

“What little I did know of Draco when we were growing up is that he was always full of schemes and plans – a quintessential Slytherin. I find it hard to believe that he doesn’t have some kind of goal for his life now that he’s back in England.”

“And why does that disquiet you, dear?”

“I’m afraid that he may have expectations about how Louisa and I might alter those plans, and I don’t want to be the cause of derailing whatever he really wants to do.”

“What else?” Narcissa prompted.

“I get the sense that he has some… unresolved feelings about me,” Hermione confessed.

“In what sense?”

“This may sound vain, but he said a couple of things that led me to believe he might have a little… crush on me. That would just be horrible!”

“Why do you think so?” Narcissa prompted, letting Hermione interpret what she was asking.

“Because things would be so incredibly awkward between us,” Hermione argued. “We have enough challenges already without adding to them with some… romantic delusion.”

“Hmmm,” Narcissa replied. “What if it’s not a ‘delusion’ to Draco? What if he genuinely had feelings for you?”

“Bu… But how could he? He doesn’t know me beyond our rivalry at Hogwarts and the few days we spent together at the Tonks’ hunting cottage. How could anyone develop genuine attachment based on that?” Hermione argued.

“I don’t know that he did, dear. I’m just saying that it’s not impossible. You forget that you have played a pivotal role in some of the defining moments of Draco’s life. At the very least, I’m sure he feels gratitude toward you; I know that to be true because it’s also what Lucius and I feel for what you’ve done for our family. And we’ve come to love you as a member of our family. We may know specifics about you and your life more than Draco does, but I’d venture to say that he knows your heart quite well by virtue of what you’ve done for him.”

“I suppose I can understand that to some extent, but I don’t want him to waste his time on thinking there could be anything between us. I just couldn’t see that happening,” Hermione protested.

“I’m sure you’re right, Hermione,” Narcissa replied, “but you must admit that he’s not the same boy you knew at Hogwarts.”

“Well, obviously that’s true. I am perfectly well aware that nearly everything he did from fifth year on was forced or manipulated behavior. But don’t forget, Narcissa, that he wasn’t exactly kind to me in the years prior to that.”

“Yes, I’m sure that’s true, dear. I wonder, though, how many other boys behaved badly during those years.”

“You do have a point there.”

“I’ve long thought that the teasing and taunting boys do at that age is just a way to gain attention. It seems to be the only way they know to get girls to notice them, don’t you think?” Narcissa prodded.

“I’ve heard that argument before, and while there may be some truth to it, I’m not inclined to believe that was the case with Draco,” Hermione asserted.

Narcissa paused and sipped at the last of her drink. It wouldn’t do to push too hard; Hermione would certainly rebel. “That may be so. I do venture to say that it will be interesting to see what kind of young man he’s become in the last couple of years. You’ll obviously need to make your own judgments about that, but I must say that I’m quite proud of the person I think he’s become.”

Narcissa set the empty crystal snifter on the side table and rose to purposely leave the other woman to her thoughts. “I’ll begin seeing to dinner, I think. Since we’ll have a full house tonight, maybe something a little more festive than roast chicken will be appropriate. I’ll see you in the dining room around half seven, Hermione.” She bestowed a warm smile on the younger witch and left to see to her mission.

Hermione, left behind, reflected briefly on what Narcissa had said. She thought that the possibility that Draco had had any interest in her when they were children was slim at best. His current… fascination with her was likely a passing thing that would amount to nothing. She’d certainly not do anything to encourage him, she decided. That would serve neither of their interests. She’d be polite and civil, and would keep her promise to get to know him for Louisa’s sake, but she’d keep their relationship simply friendly. That, she resolved, would be best for everyone concerned.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Narcissa tended to the needs of dinner preparation by instructing the house-elves to prepare a feast of Beef Wellington, one of Draco’s favorites, roasted vegetables and jacket potatoes. A light dessert of fruit tarts and espresso would finish the meal. That task handled, she went in search of her husband who was, as expected, found in his private study.

“I spoke with Hermione earlier, Lucius,” she announced as she entered, “and we need to discuss our conversation.”

“What’s the problem, dearest?”

Narcissa approached the desk where he was seated and availed herself of one of the two armchairs opposite him. “She’s expressed that she is concerned that Draco may have developed a ‘crush’ on her, as she put it. She seems most distressed by the idea.”

“Hmmm. Did she say why the idea upset her so?” Lucius wondered.

“It seems that she believes his feelings to be misplaced, that he doesn’t know her – nor she, him – well enough to have any kind of emotional attachment. She seems concerned that he has expectations that she’s unable or unwilling to fulfill.”

Lucius paused, considering what his wife had shared and weighing that against what he’d observed of the two young people in the last several hours. Prudence, he thought, should rule. “While I’m a bit troubled that she seems to be rejecting the idea out of hand, we must remember that Draco hasn’t been home for even a day. They need to become acquainted and comfortable with each other. It wouldn’t be wise to push either of them now, particularly with the massive shock they’ve both endured. We wait; we watch. We gently nudge when the circumstances dictate. If we’re to achieve our aims, and I still feel confident that we will, we cannot shove. Subtlety is called for here.”

“I don’t disagree with your assessment, Lucius, but she seems most adamant. I’m concerned that it may be a lost cause,” she fretted, tapping her fingers nervously against the arm of her chair.

“You worry too much, Cissy. Draco is not a fool; he won’t approach the situation with undue haste or enthusiasm. I’ll quietly encourage him to just be himself. If he’s half the man I think he’s become in the last three years, she’ll take note and appreciate it. Their shared history, troubled as it is, now includes a child. That will draw them together, I have no doubt. You’ll get your wish, mon coeur, and she will become the daughter you’ve always wanted.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_Draco pushed opened the front door with his foot, arms loaded with wood, calling out as he crossed the threshold. “I’m back. Snow’s piling up like crazy out there!”_

_The fire crackled merrily in the hearth as he added another log to the top, ensuring that the warmth would continue for another hour or two. He set the remaining logs in a large wooden box and rubbed his hands briskly to diminish the chill. He heard the unmistakable clang of pots and pans in the kitchen and moved to investigate._

_“What are you doing?” he asked lightly._

_“Oh, hi! I was so engrossed, I didn’t hear you come in,” she replied, gracing him with a bright smile. “I thought I’d make a beef stew for dinner. Would you like to help?”_

_“Sure. I’ll peel and cut up the onions, potatoes, and carrots. I’ll make fresh bread, too, if you like,” he offered._

_“That sounds fabulous,” she agreed, pulling out cubed beef and the homemade stock Draco had stored in the freezer. “Don’t forget the parsnips.”_

_He smiled indulgently at the curly-haired witch. “Of course not. It is my recipe, if you remember,” he teased._

_They worked silently, companionably, for several minutes, Hermione thawing the beef and stock in the microwave and Draco preparing the vegetables then assembling the flour, water, eggs, and yeast for the crusty bread he would make. She browned the beef in the large pot she’d selected and added the onions, stock, seasonings, and two cups of dry red wine; the aroma was fabulous._

_Draco rolled up his sleeves and combined the ingredients for the bread in a large bowl. He lightly floured the counter-top and dropped the ball of dough onto the whitened surface, the muscles in his forearms flexing as he began to knead. Ten minutes later, he returned the dough to an oiled bowl, covering it with a cotton towel to rise. “There. It’ll be ready to bake in about an hour,” he announced._

_“Perfect,” Hermione noted, “because the meat needs to simmer for another hour, then the vegetables will need about twenty minutes after that. Everything will be done at about six o’clock.”_

_“Wine?” he offered, lifting a glass and bottle._

_“I’d love some.”_

_“Go ahead to the sitting room. I’ll bring it in for you,” Draco stated._

_“Sure. I just want to check on Louisa,” Hermione said._

_Draco chuckled. “She’ll probably sleep for another hour, considering how hard she played in the snow earlier.”_

_“You’re probably right. I can’t remember when I’ve heard her laugh so hard… or get so thoroughly wet,” she observed with a laugh of her own._

_Five minutes later, Hermione sat on the sofa facing the fireplace and accepted the wine glass the Draco held out to her._

_“Thanks,” she said, curling up her legs so that she occupied fully half of the small sofa while Draco was tucked into the opposite corner, his left ankle resting on his right knee. “She’s out like a light.”_

_“I had no doubt,” he assured with a smile. “Who knew a three-year-old could have that much energy? I think I’m as exhausted as she is.”_

_“You could take a nap, if you want. I can watch dinner.”_

_“No, really, I’m fine. I’m sure I’ll sleep well tonight, though,” he replied. “We don’t get a lot of quiet time alone, and I thought it might be nice to just chat for a while.”_

_“Oh, yes. Sure. What did you want to talk about?”_

_“Nothing in particular,” he stated with a noncommittal shrug. “We should probably start thinking about what we want to do for a spring vacation in a couple of months.”_

_“We haven’t even finished this one yet!”_

_“This doesn’t count; it’s just a long weekend away,” Draco affirmed with a hint of a smirk._

_“Well, we’re in the cabin, miles from home, and it’s just the three of us. I think that qualifies.”_

_“It only qualifies as a mini-vacation, not a real one. Though I must say, it was very sweet of Aunt Andy to offer it to us, especially after all the work they did to refurbish it. It’s quite charming and comfortable now.”_

_“It’s lovely. Remind me to send her some flowers in thanks when we get back.”_

_“And we should also send a bottle of Firewhisky to Uncle Ted. He did most of the work himself, you know,” Draco reminded her._

_“Yes, and nearly half of it was done the Muggle way, which makes it even more impressive.” She leaned over a little closer, ostensibly snuggling up for warmth even though the room was toasty from both the fire and the fully functional heating system._

_Draco automatically draped an arm around her shoulder, tugging her in to fit tightly against his side. He absently dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “So, where would you like to go? I’m thinking Italy or Greece might be nice in late April.”_

_“Either one would be fine with me. We could use the family property in either location, so there won’t be a lot of arrangements to make.”_

_“True. You’ll just need to remember to put in for your time off from St. Mungo’s with plenty of notice.”_

_“I told you I was sorry about that,” she protested. “Nobody else had put in for the same week we wanted until literally the day before I did.”_

_Draco gave her a sidelong glance, finally confirming that he was, indeed, only teasing. “You take everything so seriously. Lighten up, love.” He chuckled deep and low, and kissed her hair again._

_Hermione shrugged. “Then don’t be a prat when you don’t fully get your own way, Mr. Malfoy,” she teasingly scolded._

_“And what if my way happens to be your way, too?” he retorted, reaching over to poke her gently in the ribs with a long finger._

_She shifted away slightly, thinking to avert a tickle attack. Her movement was too little, too late when Draco loomed over her, pushing her back to the sofa and ghosting his fingers softly along her ribcage. He nipped at her neck with teeth and lips, making her shiver with delight. Annoyance, however, crept in as he heard an insistent knocking at the cabin’s front door._

“Draco! Dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes. Time to get up,” Narcissa called from the hallway outside his bedroom.

He groaned in frustration and replied thickly, “I’m up. I’ll be there shortly.” He tossed the duvet and sheets off and saw evidence that he’d definitely enjoyed his dream. He looked down and spoke to his body as though it had a consciousness of its own. “I don’t have time for you right now, buddy. Behave yourself till later.”

He walked to his bathroom, splashed water on his face, brushed his teeth, and combed his hair. A glance in the mirror confirmed he was reasonably presentable, and he returned to the bedroom to don the clothing he’d set aside earlier. Five minutes later, he entered the family dining room to find his parents and Hermione already seated. Louisa was at her mother’s right in a booster chair. The only available seat was directly opposite Hermione, and he nodded in greeting to the assembly while drawing out the chair and taking his place.

“You look well-refreshed, Draco,” his father observed. “Did you have a good rest?”

Draco briefly glanced at Hermione, which caused her to tilt her head in the slightest bit of confusion – why, after all, would she have any connection to the quality of his nap? – and answered Lucius’ question. “It was reasonably comfortable. I just wish it had been a little longer.” Draco dropped his eyes to his plate, afraid that he’d given something away in his comments.

“I’m sure no one will be offended if you decide to retire a little early tonight, dear. It has been a very long day, and you’ve traveled quite a distance, so your exhaustion is not unexpected. We’ll have plenty of time to reconnect over the next few days,” Narcissa noted.

“Yes, Draco, and you’re welcome to stay here until you get settled in the townhouse,” Lucius offered.

“I know, Father, but I’m anxious to get moved in. I’ll stay tonight, but I’d like to borrow a couple of house-elves to help me move my personal belongings and a couple of pieces of furniture from the attic tomorrow, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“That would be fine, dear, but there’s no rush. Wait until the weekend. That will give you some time to spend with Louisa,” his mother noted.

That thought gave him pause. It would be nice to spend a little more time with the child, and she’d probably be more comfortable doing that here in her own home. Hermione would probably also be more amenable to the prospect. There really was no immediate need to vacate his parents’ home, he acknowledged. “Well, if it wouldn’t cause too much trouble, it might be nice to spend some time with you before I settle in to my own place.”

“It would be no trouble at all, Draco. In fact, we’d love to have you for a few days,” Narcissa replied with a smile.

“If you’re sure… I’ll stay through the end of the week.”

His decision was met by great smiles of joy from his parents, a clapping of tiny hands by Louisa (who was likely just reacting to her grandparents’ happiness), and silent, if slightly less enthused, assent by Hermione. It seemed the small Malfoy family would have a few days of togetherness after all.


	12. Labors

As the rains of April gave way to the warmth of May, Draco felt a shift happening within him. Both of his therapists had noted that he’d seemed a little more relaxed, a little less terrified, a bit more self-aware as they explored deeper into the trauma he’d both caused and experienced. He’d actually been able to make eye contact with Dr. Kate for the entirety of his last three sessions, and Dr. David hadn’t had to resort to some of his more annoying prompts in over a month.

Draco had finally pushed through enough of his pain and guilt to see that the work he was doing was yielding some results. He hadn’t had a violent nightmare in nearly two months, and he’d started to truly embrace the idea that his accountability today was in rebuilding his own life and finding ways to genuinely atone for what had been done by his hands in ways that did not cause him to shoulder the blame for the heinous deeds.

The young man, however, was more conflicted than ever about his feelings and reactions to Ms. Hermione Granger. He’d finally admitted to himself and his therapists that there had been a long-standing latent physical and intellectual attraction to the young woman. One problem with that was the additional thin layer of guilt that the realization caused – his fascination with her had likely been the reason his crazy aunt had targeted her for so much of his manipulated vitriol. Weeks earlier, he’d uncovered a memory of the wicked witch using Legilimency on him during their so-called “lessons” after Hogwarts had been shuttered; there was no telling how many times she’d performed the spell on him nor what she’d seen during her forays into his thoughts and feelings. As much as his brain knew he was not accountable or responsible for the resulting violence against the girl, his heart still felt the remorse.

Draco’s latest meeting with Dr. Kate had added another layer of complexity to what he’d been thinking and feeling. He’d returned to his memories of that meeting often in the last several days, mulling over what they’d discussed and what additional insight he’d gained as a result.

_When Draco had settled into his familiar seat near the expansive picture window, Dr. Kate was ready to dive in with a set of questions and observations that she’d apparently been constructing for a couple of weeks. He could feel her intense gaze and the air was heavy with a sense of purposefulness._

_“Draco,” she began with a breath, “you have had a fair amount of difficulty with both me and David in sharing things that you viewed as intensely personal. It’s clear that you’ve relaxed some as we’ve come to know each other better, but you still occasionally struggle with discussing intimate items. I’ve noticed that it’s not just things related to sexual issues, but also topics that are related to your deeper thinking and feeling. Would you say that’s a fair assessment?”_

_To his credit, Draco didn’t avoid her eyes as he responded. “I would agree. I’ve always been a very private person; my family has always been… circumspect in its expression of thoughts and emotions. It’s what I was raised to do, to be.”_

_“So, why do you think you were able to share so many of those intimate thoughts and experiences with Miss Granger when you’ve been so reticent to express them with anyone else?” Kate pressed._

_Draco sat up a little straighter in his chair as the force of her observation struck him. Why, indeed? He opened his mouth, thinking to make some kind of response, but only an unintelligible, strangled sound escaped._

_“Draco?”_

_“I, uh, don’t…” he struggled out._

_“What about her, or about how you feel for her, prompted you to be so much more open with Miss Granger than anyone else in your life?”_

_“You’re relentless, Dr. Kate, you know that?” Draco noted. “Explain to me how you came to this conclusion.” He pinned her with a challenging stare, not ready to make an observation of his own with regard to her confrontation._

_“I didn’t. You did.”_

_“How do you figure that?” he pushed back._

_“You’ve told me at least four times about ‘extremely personal’ or ‘intensely private’ conversations and situations you shared with her, most of them while you were in the cabin under some terribly stressful conditions. But the rub, Draco, is that you’ve been in similarly stressful situations with other people, including our intense therapy sessions and the times you were interrogated while you were still in school, and not been anywhere near as forthcoming as you were with her. Speculate for me. Why?”_

_He tipped his head to rest against the back of the chair, staring at the plain white ceiling that filled his view. The breath he expelled through pursed lips was long and ragged. “I suppose I could blame it on an effect of the potions I was fed which were apparently designed to keep me as silent about my actions as possible, but I think that’s actually a very small factor in the grander scheme.” He paused, closing his eyes briefly. “She’s as persistent as you are,” he offered quietly. “She never gives up; that’s something that I admire about her. She wouldn’t let me get away with not sharing with her.” He sniffed amusedly. “I once likened her to a ‘dog on a bone.’ She didn’t care for that much.”_

_“You’ve never impressed me as much of a pushover, Draco. In fact, you can be rather recalcitrant – almost stubborn in protecting yourself. How was she able to break through those defenses?”_

_“I guess there was a part of me that wanted her to know,” he hypothesized after a brief moment and another deep breath. “And maybe I wanted to know what it felt like to be in her confidence. Everyone else trusted her, so why couldn’t I do the same?” He pushed out of the chair and stood staring out the window at the Boston Common below. “She was always so incredibly smart and an adept problem-solver. I guess I had a little bit of hope that she might be able to help me when it became clear that I had no idea what was causing my memory issues and headaches. I could only pray that she’d be willing, especially after everything I did to her.” His voice trailed off quietly as he admitted to his therapist the things he never dared admit to himself before this moment._

_“And how did you feel when she did listen? When she was willing to help you?” Kate prompted. “No editing.”_

_“Relieved. Grateful. Hopeful.”_

_“Tell me more about what that meant to you.”_

_“Even though I knew she couldn’t run away from me while we were in the cabin, there was nothing that prevented her from ignoring me, or refusing to interact with me. She did just the opposite. She engaged me at every turn. While I was coming out from under the potions’ influence, she was almost like a beacon, guiding me out of the darkness. I’ve never felt so utterly connected to anyone in my life,” Draco admitted. The distant quality in his tone betrayed the fact that he was communicating more with himself than with the doctor. He finally turned away from the window to face the woman again._

_“When I realized that, it turned every perception I had of the world upside down. It was like getting hit full-force by a Bludger. When she had a dream about the… the rape, it made me not want to live for another minute. How could I have hurt someone so good, so kind?” He shook his head in disgust. “I felt then that I didn’t deserve to… be there.”_

_“But you didn’t go through with it, obviously. You’ve never been terribly specific about what stopped you. Do you think you could share that now?” Kate gently probed._

_“She did. She called for me. She needed me. She asked me to stay. In that moment, I would have refused her nothing, regardless of how painful or difficult it may have been for me,” he confessed._

_“So you set aside your wishes to fulfill hers.”_

_“Yes.”_

_“That’s a pretty selfless thing to do when you’re in such great pain. Why do you think you did that?”_

_“In that moment, I cared more about her than I did about me. Far more.”_

_“What was that caring about?”_

_“I couldn’t let her hurt anymore. I wanted to protect her. I felt so grateful for the help she’d given to me, that there’s no way I would let her down. I was in awe of her strength and courage, and I wanted nothing more than to make her pain go away. If I could accomplish that by staying better than by leaving, the decision was moot.”_

_“Was it only about the guilt you felt? Or was there something else you identified?”_

_“The guilt was a big factor, but there were other things too. I think I’ve always been in awe of her; I just couldn’t admit that aloud to anyone. I know this sounds a little strange, but the word that keeps popping into my head is ‘worshipful.’” Draco felt color rise in his cheeks and turned away to face the window once more. He gulped audibly before admitting, “I think it actually intensified after she spoke for me at my trial.”_

_“That’s a pretty powerful word, Draco. What does that feel like? Is it still an accurate term for your feelings?”_

_“Powerful is a good way to describe it,” he replied, laughing without amusement. “It kicks me in the gut every day. Therefore, I’d say it’s still accurate.”_

_“What do you intend to do about that?” she pushed._

_“I have no idea. And, truth be told, it scares me to death.”_

Having replayed that conversation at least a dozen times, Draco was still conflicted and had no idea what it really meant. He’d said the words himself – Kate hadn’t led him anywhere – but the fact that he sounded love-sick and besotted every time he spoke about Granger was tugging at him constantly.

It had taken him six days, but he’d finally had the nerve to ask the burning question of himself: _Have I fallen in love with the one person I’ve hurt the most?_ The prospect was beyond terrifying and utterly depressing. There was no way he wanted to doom himself to a life of lonely pining for a woman who would never, under any circumstances, return his affections. He’d been hiding from this for months, but Draco knew in his heart that he truly did, as he’d told Dr. Kate, feel a connection to Hermione Granger deeper than any he’d ever experienced. Whether he’d ever feel that way for anyone else, he thought, was highly unlikely. The fact that she was still the only star of his erotic dreams and unbidden fantasies, despite having had the opportunity to meet a significant number of lovely ladies – both witch and Muggle – was just another weight on the scale. He was, in his desolate opinion, screwed. 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The Doctors Roy had worked their way through the weekly patient meeting, saving the Malfoy case for last this time. There had been some rather significant breakthroughs and developments in the last couple of weeks, and both therapists had agreed that they needed to be completely focused to determine next steps in his treatment plan.

“Since I saw him last, let me fill you in on where we left off,” Kate offered, knowing that her husband had read her notes, but wanting to add the “flavor” of the conversation.

“Seemed like it was a pretty heavy session,” David observed.

“It was,” she agreed, taking a two-second break to sip at her coffee. “He sounded defeated at points, but also a little relieved that he was finally saying aloud what had been rolling around in his head for so long.”

“I know we’ve touched on it before, but do you have any concerns about a fixation or obsession as a result of these new observations?” David wondered.

“I don’t think so. Everything he says about her is based in solid scrutiny, real interaction, and genuine response. Maybe a little preoccupied, but that’s understandable given the circumstances. Why, do you see a shift that leans that way?”

David shook his head. “No, I don’t see anything unhealthy. Just wanted to make sure that you hadn’t noticed something I missed. My only concern is that he may be struggling with admitting to himself the depth and breadth of his feelings for this girl.”

“I’m certain that he is. If you could have seen his face as he was talking about the level of intimacy he shared with her, you would have seen an internal war being waged. I think one of the biggest issues is that he doesn’t feel that he deserves the comfort of accepting his feelings. The guilt he still shoulders over what happened between them is pretty stifling, even with all the progress he’s made.”

“So where do we take him from here?” David wondered, seeking her professional opinion and guidance.

“I don’t think he’s ready to put a label on what he feels for her yet. He’s still overwhelmed. I think we need to keep working on helping him release the guilt and finding his ‘atonement’ for the things he did. He’s been talking more about that lately. He’s made a little progress with his sexual identity, too. Still not quite at a ‘normal’ level for a man of his age, but I think he’s stopped constantly denying himself regular masturbation, although I have no illusions that it’s still a bit difficult for him to give in to the impulse. The biggest problem there is that he seems to have only the one stimulus of Miss Granger and he obviously struggles with the guilt bit on that. I’ve made no progress on getting him to think about dating. In fact, he’s outright refused to consider it.”

“That’s going to make it difficult to see real progress in his sexual expression, obviously.”

“Yeah. How can I ever get him to progress to partner exercises if he refuses to find a partner?” Kate scoffed.

“I know. How much further can you take his sexual education and healing if he’s only willing to go solo – and even that is reluctant.”

Kate shook her head sadly. “Not too much. If the best I can do is getting him to a point where he’s willing and able to create a healthy sexual fantasy and masturbate to completion, I’ll consider it a reasonable success. Giving in to spontaneous normal urges is as far as he’s gone so far. The rest of it is a two-fold issue: one half is guilt and the other half is being head-over-heels for this Granger girl. I’m convinced that he’d view dating someone else as partly a betrayal of her, and partly a betrayal of his own heart. With all the guilt issues he still has, I just don’t see it happening.”

“So we’re agreed. We both keep dealing with his guilt problems and you work towards building capability for healthy sexual fantasy and release. I just hope that something will break and he’ll think about finding other companionship.”

“I hate to say it, but I think you’re asking for too much where that’s concerned.” Kate closed her folder and stood to stretch her stiff muscles.

David placed his hands on the knots in her shoulders and began kneading away her tension. “As much as I hate to admit it, I think you’re right.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Lucius Malfoy was on a mission, determined to find his wife and granddaughter on the massive Malfoy property without resorting to the help of a house-elf. Having not found the pair in the baby’s bedroom or playroom, the family patriarch searched his wife’s sitting room, the family dining room, the solarium, the library, the kitchen, the yellow parlor, the blue study, the west patio, the front portico, and the arboretum - all in vain. He was seconds away from relenting to the idea of elvish aid when he heard the unmistakable sound of a baby’s giggle quickly followed by his wife’s own trilling laugh. They appeared in the doorway of his study less than a minute later, the child tugging on her grandmother’s grey pearl necklace with a tiny fist.

He stopped his pacing to greet them, arms outstretched to take the six-month-old Louisa as she practically leapt from her grandmother’s hold at the sight of her Pépère. He nuzzled the baby’s cheek with his straight, Roman nose and inquired of Narcissa with a bit of impatience, “Where the devil have you two been? I’ve spent the last forty minutes looking all over the bloody house for you!”

“Language, dear,” she scolded. “It’s such a beautiful day that I took her out for a walk in the orchards. Everything is blooming and the aromas are heavenly. We were getting some fresh air,” Narcissa replied while reaching over to remove the white eyelet sunbonnet that was tied under Louisa’s slightly chubby chin.

Lucius tapped the baby’s nose with a finger and made silly noises that vaguely resembled French endearments. “That’s lovely, but leave me a note next time you disappear for so long,” he grumbled mildly at his wife.

“Well, we’re back now. What had you in such a state to find me?” She attempted to reclaim the child from her husband’s arms and was rebuffed with a twist of his torso.

“You had her all morning. It’s my turn now.”

“Oh, Lucius, for Merlin’s sake, she’s not a toy to be shared.”

“Of course not. She’s a joy to be treasured, as I’m doing right now.” He sat in one of the large cordovan leather armchairs near the tall, narrow windows and bounced the baby on his knee, earning more giggles from the tyke as his reward. “The solicitor called over the Floo this morning, and he says that everything is settled.”

A flash of sheer delight crossed Narcissa’s face and she exclaimed, “So soon? I feared it would take many months to get everything accomplished.”

“Apparently, we aren’t the first to request such an arrangement. While… unorthodox, it is not unprecedented. If it were, we’d have had significantly more difficulty in achieving our aims.”

Narcissa chewed slightly at the inside of her lower lip. Her husband noticed.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet now, Cissy. It’s a little late for that,” he chided.

“No, no. Not cold feet. I just hope that they’ll come to realize that everything we’ve done is for everyone’s best interest. I know it’s a little high-handed on our part, but...”

Lucius interrupted, “But, nothing, Cissy. What’s done is done, and if anyone’s upset over it, we’ll ask forgiveness later. Always better than asking permission, in my opinion. We’ll just manipulate, cajole, encourage and intervene as we normally would, and no one will be the wiser until all the dust has settled. We’re an old family. It’s what we do,” he concluded, thinking that would put an end to the discussion.

“What deadline did you finally set?” Narcissa inquired after a moment’s silence.

“Louisa’s fifth birthday.”

“And if things aren’t… settled by then?”

“I have other… remedies at my disposal. But I’m quite confident that none of those will be required. Their own actions are quite telling, if you look beneath the surface.” On seeing his wife’s quirked brow, he amended his statement. “Fine, well beneath the surface. Very deeply buried. And definitely more one-sided than shared. The good news is that we have four and a half years to work on it. It’ll be fine,” he stated, though the conviction in his tone was not unwavering.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

“Draco should be here in less than ten minutes, so you two had better finish getting dressed if you want to get to the park on time,” Kate Roy admonished her habitually lackadaisical sons. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’d rather stay inside in front of the television all day.”

A duet of “No, Mum!” was the clear reply to her challenge. “We were watching the baseball game on replay. The Sox against the Yankees. And it’s because you wouldn’t let us stay up last night,” Thomas accused.

“Yes, young man, because after the rain delay, the game didn’t start until nearly ten o'clock. If you recall, you were actually fast asleep on the sofa by then, so don’t blame me for your sleepiness,” she reminded him. “And you saw the score on the news this morning, anyway.”

“But knowing they won isn’t enough! I have to see what happened!” Thomas explained with eager passion.

She shook her head in resignation. “God, I’ve spawned another Red Sox fanatic, so help me.” She guided the two boys into their rooms. “No arguing. He’ll be here any minute.”

As if on cue, the Floo roared with green flame to announce their sitter’s arrival. Draco brushed a light dusting of soot off the shoulders of his light blue pullover and from the top of his head. “Hey, mates!” he called out, “where is everyone?”

David Roy came around the corner from the family room to greet his patient. “Hi there,” he offered with a smile. “Kate’s corralling them to finish getting dressed. They were stuck in front of the television watching baseball… again.”

Draco smirked in acknowledgement. “Nothing unusual about that,” he observed. “Am I still taking them to the park for their Little League game today?”

“Yeah, that’s the plan. If they can get their little tushies in gear,” he affirmed. “Hey, you two!” he called out, “Draco’s here and you need to leave in the next five minutes if you want to make your game on time.”

Smiling at the normalcy of it, Draco dropped into an armchair by the hearth to await his charges. Something in his expression, however, gave his therapist reason to pause.

“What?” he prompted.

“Huh?” came Draco’s inarticulate response.

“You’re troubled about something.”

“No… not really,” he defended, “Just still thinking about our session last night. As you well know, it was… one of the most intense ones we’ve had, and I was up late, stewing over it a bit.”

“Oh. Okay. Not surprising. We did cover a bit rockier ground than we have in a while,” the therapist acknowledged wryly. “Was there something in particular that… kept you up?”

The younger wizard’s face twisted as he tried, with minimal success, to avoid a smile. “Good question. I’d have to say so. We talked about… her for an hour. Of course I had an unsettled night.”

“Well, to be fair, we talked about your feelings about her. There is a little distinction.”

“Not enough of one to matter,” Draco muttered under his breath. “Couldn’t get her out of my head – not that that’s so unusual – but when I did finally fall asleep, well, I think you can guess what my dreams were.”

“Fair enough; I understand. Would you like to talk to Kate about that?”

Draco shook his head. “No. I’m, uh, fine. There was no… stress over it. I just need to process what we talked about a little more.”

David grasped Draco’s shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. “You’re doing fine, you know,” he reassured. “You’ve had a couple of big breakthroughs in the last few weeks. You’re bound to need some time to adjust to new perceptions and feelings. Give yourself a little credit, and a little break.”

Conscious of the fact that his two young pals were nearby, Draco was euphemistic as he spoke. “If we’d had this conversation six or eight weeks ago, Doc, we’d be talking about lots of cold water and self-denial. I know I’ve made progress, and I, uh, feel good about that… in an emotional way,” he hastened to add. “It’s, uh, not an everyday thing, but I’ve learned that there are some things that I thought were harmful to my emotional intelligence are in fact ways to heal and, someday, create connections. The inverse is also true. Things that I thought were good for me – like self-denial – were actually making many of my problems worse. I never understood until a very short time ago how much damage was really done by what happened to me during those five years. I’m starting to comprehend that now.”

“How does that make you feel?”

“Angry and resentful. But I also recognize that the people who did those things to me can’t ever hurt me again. They’re dead. I’m not going to waste my energy on them. Sure, I’m cheesed off, but I want to focus my efforts on learning to be a good person and how to build the connections I want in my life. I won’t let my anger at my late aunt and uncle subvert the progress I’ve already made and I surely won’t let them influence my life beyond the harm they already caused. If I don’t let it go, they still win, and I won’t have it,” Draco ended firmly.

“You know, Draco, out of all the things you and I have discussed in the past year, that may be the most emotionally mature and insightful thing I’ve heard you say. You should be very proud of how far you’ve come.”

“Thank you, Doc. I feel like I’m doing better. There’s…”

Whatever Draco might have said was interrupted by the arrival of Daryl and Thomas, dressed in their little baseball uniforms and gloves and bats in hand.

“Hi, Draco!” Daryl greeted at nearly full volume. “We’re ready to go now.”

“I can see that. We should be on our way so we don’t keep your teammates waiting, then,” Draco said, taking the two light jackets that Kate handed to him. To her, he stated, “Based on last week’s game, we should be back about an hour before you. Do you want me to feed them lunch, or should we wait for you?”

“I’ll leave it up to you. If you’re back by noon and haven’t heard from us, feel free to make something for the three of you. There are cold cuts in the refrigerator and pre-made burgers in the freezer if you want to toss them on the grill on the patio. I’ll leave some money on the table if you decide you just want to order something in. I just want to warn you that my meeting might run a few minutes long today because it’s a new patient, so there will be extra paperwork to do. I hope that won’t create any conflict,” she added uncertainly.

“None at all. I don’t go in until the evening shift tonight, so we’re fine,” Draco reassured her.

“Great. Thank you. Once again, you’re a life-saver!” she enthused, patting his forearm with her hand.

Draco smiled. “No, Doc, I think that title belongs to you and your husband. Now we all need to get our rears in gear or every one of us will be late for our obligations.” He turned to the boys, instructing, “March, men!” while ushering them out the back door with a wave to their parents.

“You heard?” David probed.

“Mmmhmm,” she affirmed.

“And?”

“Our work appears to be paying off,” she noted, a bright smile lighting her face.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

While Draco enjoyed being with the boys in nearly every circumstance, their baseball practices and games were rather lower on the list of preferred activities, not because he didn’t enjoy or understand the game, on which the Roy family had fully schooled him, but because there was little he could do but watch from the hard, metal bleachers. There had been more than one occasion when he’d wished he could cast a cushioning charm on the virtual torture devices. At least the discomfort distracted him from his thoughts for a while.

The first half-hour was easy; he watched as the boys did some basic calisthenics and warm-ups. The next half-hour was decidedly more challenging. Skill drills were deadly boring, except to the individual player or two who was involved at the moment. Lots of standing around meant nothing to see. Nothing to see meant that the brain had to do something. That meant thinking. Unfortunately, there was a lot to think about.

The previous evening’s session with Dr. David was very fresh in Draco’s mind, and it had been a humdinger. He’d left feeling like he’d been spun-dried in one of those Muggle machines for wet clothes. They had started with a recap of what he’d last discussed with Dr. Kate and the discussion had mushroomed from there, fueled by all the thinking that Draco had done in the six days since. If he was honest with himself, Draco had to admit that the bulk of the drama was his own miserable fault. He’d just had to blurt it out…

_“But the problem is that I just can’t stop thinking about her. And I don’t want to stop thinking about her. It’s one of the very few things that bring me comfort, and joy. It makes me feel whole, like something about my life matters. I love that I think about her. I love her!” he’d announced before he even realized what had come out of his mouth._

_“Well. Now. That’s something to talk about, isn’t it, Draco?” Dr. David had pronounced._

_And they had, for the remaining forty-five minutes of his appointment. Once he’d started, his confession was like an avalanche that couldn’t be held back. Dr. David had sprinkled a periodic prompting question now and then, but largely it had been Draco, just pouring out what had been brewing in his heart and soul for many, many months, maybe even years._

_“I wasn’t supposed to be fascinated by her. It was all wrong. Totally contrary to everything I’d ever been taught. But I was. I especially remember watching her in third and fourth year, wondering how she could do so many things so well. And noticing when she started to not look like a little girl anymore. I know it sounds trite, but her eyes were windows to her soul, and I wanted to look inside and find out what that picture was really like. I think she was the first girl whose eye color I really noticed. It was the same shade as the fine brandy my father liked to drink after a really special meal. Why did I notice that?” Draco had sprung from his chair and was pacing the room like a caged tiger. “I used to tease her about her bushy hair and then she did something different – I haven’t a clue, I don’t know – but it really wasn’t bushy so much as curly. It looked so soft. More than once I had to remind myself that I couldn’t touch it as I passed her in the corridor or in the Great Hall. My hands would twitch with the effort. Is that sick?” he pleaded._

_“No, Draco,” Dr. David had assured him, “but it certainly sounds like genuine attraction.”_

_“I fought it; I know I did. My family, my friends would never have approved of my being… attracted to a Muggle-born witch. I knew it would create nothing but grief. I know I tried to push her out of my head, but I don’t think it worked. Then, in fifth year, everything changed. You know that I still can’t recall very much detail about that year, or the four after it. As we’ve talked about many times, I’ve been told about some of the things I did, and the very idea of those things makes me want to vomit. I know I tried to hurt her, to kill her even, but maybe there was something inside me that remembered what I’d thought and felt about her earlier. That wouldn’t let me go that far in finishing her off. Now I know from the memory I had a few weeks ago that, when my aunt was ‘training’ me, she discovered my feelings for her, and it enraged her. I’m now quite certain that Granger was specifically targeted not because of her relationship with Potter, but because of the way I felt about her. That idea makes me ill. If it’s true, then on some level, everything that happened to her was my fault, because I wasn’t strong enough to either let my feelings for her go or hide them sufficiently.”_

_“Draco, there is no fault or blame to be had in being attracted to someone or loving someone. Your insane aunt and uncle are the only people who deserve blame. They took a good, pure emotion from you and twisted it beyond recognition. There is no level on which you can legitimately or logically blame yourself for what happened.”_

_“But it’s not logic that’s involved here, Doc. It’s my heart, and hers. I’d give everything I have, including every last breath in my body, to make it up to her. But there’s no way I can ever expect – or even hope – that she’d let me into her life enough to make the kind of amends that she deserves, and that practically kills me.” Draco dropped onto the chair and buried his face in his hands._

_“Why do you think that’s so, Draco?”_

_“What possible reason could she have for allowing me anything beyond a nod on the street?” Draco asked incredulously. “I raped her. I beat and tortured her. I tried to kill her three times. She’ll never be able to forget those things.”_

_“No, probably not. But it seems pretty clear that she’s forgiven you. You said it yourself: she’s incredibly smart. She knows exactly who was responsible for the attacks on her, and it wasn’t you. You were the weapon, but you weren’t the assailant. What if she’s even smarter and kinder than you think she is?”_

_Draco choked out a sound of disbelief. “Not likely. I’m well aware of the depth and breadth of her better qualities.”_

_“Humor me. Let’s say she’s truly as compassionate, caring and intelligent as your heart and soul wish her to be. Couldn’t that woman find it in her heart to let you in, even just to accept your sincere remorse?”_

_“I, I just couldn’t let myself hope for that,” Draco whispered._

_“Why not?”_

_“Because if I failed in even gaining that, I’d have nothing left to cling to. The hardest thing I’ll ever admit to you or myself is that she feels like my only lifeline. She’s the reason I want to be a better person, a better man. She’s the one to whom I most want to atone. She’s the one who sets my blood on fire. My soul aches to connect with her. I have no right to feel that way, but I do.”_

Draco was roused from his memories by the sound of the crack of bat against ball. The abbreviated five-inning game had begun. He watched from the bleachers and cheered as Thomas scooped up the ball hit along the ground between second and third base and made an accurate – if marginally too slow – toss to the first baseman. The runner was safe, but the defender had made his best effort. It was a lesson that he thought he might take to heart.


	13. Moving

The impromptu Malfoy family dinner had not been as awkward or uncomfortable as Hermione had feared. The meal was, as always, superbly prepared and beautifully presented. Lucius and Narcissa had been understandably happy to spend a significant period of time in their son’s company; their periodic visits to Salem had always had an undercurrent of discomfort related to Draco’s forced exile and the secret they’d kept from him. Louisa had been happy to soak up all the extra attention afforded by having another captive adult in her thrall. Draco, while still a bit dumbstruck over the dramatic events of the day, had paid rapt attention to the flow of conversation between his parents and Hermione, and the antics of his daughter as she coyly drew focus to herself throughout the extended meal. His own contribution to the discussion had been surprisingly lively, given his fatigue and the turmoil he’d suffered earlier in the day. Malfoys, it seemed, were able to rise to the occasion to meet any social obligation with ease and grace.

As the last of the fruit tarts were consumed and the final sip of espresso finished, Lucius drew Draco’s attention from his daughter, who was now sleepily tucked into her mother’s shoulder. “While Hermione settles Louisa down for the night, won’t you join me in my study for a little brandy?”

The young man seemed a bit reluctant to wrest his attention from the two curly-haired females, but assented to his father’s invitation with a curt nod. Before departing, Draco stepped around the table to place a kiss on the toddler’s head. “Good night, Louisa,” he whispered. “Sleep well.” He briefly met Hermione’s eyes, giving her a hint of a smile, and turned to join his father in the room twenty feet east of their current location.

As Draco entered his father’s sanctuary, he noted that the elder man had removed his formal robe and waistcoat and stood at his credenza, pouring brandy into two crystal snifters, attired in rolled-up shirt sleeves and his dark blue trousers. He’d rarely seen the man so casually dressed, but took it as a signal that he should make himself comfortable too. The tie was loosened, top button opened, and robe discarded in short order, and Draco accepted the beverage handed to him by his father, who had opened the humidor on his desk to select a fine, hand-rolled cigar.

“Would you care for a smoke, Draco?”

“No, thank you, Father.”

Lucius nodded in acknowledgment and waved a hand toward one of the stuffed velvet chairs facing the hearth. “Have a seat; make yourself comfortable,” he offered.

Draco took the indicated spot and rested his left ankle on his right knee, using its opposite as a prop for his snifter. “Why do I get the feeling this is not just a friendly catch-up chat?” he prodded.

“I haven’t the slightest idea, Draco. We haven’t seen each other in nearly two months, and our conversations over the Floo have been necessarily brief. We haven’t really had a chance to speak privately since you… arrived this morning.”

“Father, I’m not a malleable child any longer. I’m no genius, but I am mature, intelligent, and observant enough to know that you and Mother are up to something, and this is your attempt to manipulate me into doing what you want me to do,” Draco accused.

Lucius remained silent for a moment, watching his son’s expression intently. “What if our aims and yours are… in alignment?” he suggested.

Draco narrowed his eyes in suspicion but refrained from issuing a verbal response. He nodded, silently encouraging his father to continue.

“In the three years that you’ve been away, you and I have had more conversations of substance than in all the years before. Even though you still sometimes try to hold your feelings close, you can’t successfully hide them from me. The questions you asked, the things that concerned you, were all very telling to someone who knows you as well as I do. I can see, and have known for a long time, that you have strong feelings for her. And I want to help you get what you want.”

Draco remained silent, staring into the amber liquor that swirled in crystal, warmed by the heat of his hand. “Why?” he asked, voice strained and barely audible.

Lucius’ expression appeared to be almost insulted. “Why not? You’re my son.” He paused, rose from his seat and turned his back to his son, looking out at the expanse of lawn under the great picture window. He continued quietly, “I want you to be happy. I love you.”

Draco swallowed hard. His father was not a terribly demonstrative man. He could count on his hands the number of times he’d seen his father display or share raw emotion and caring. Quick reflection reminded him that the vast majority of those events were, in fact, reasonably recent, almost exclusively within the last three years. Still, for him to state his affection so openly, so blatantly, was not something to be ignored. “I know, Papa. I love you, too,” he responded softly, using the endearing name he’d called the man as a child. “I understand that you want to help me, and I appreciate that. Honestly, I do. But I need to be my own man now. I need to find my own way in the world. I have a lot to make up for, and I’ve got some goals for my life. It will be a long time before you’re ready to retire, and I’ve got time before I need to take my place in the family business – and I intend to – but I’ve still got some healing to do and some things I need to prove to myself before I’m ready to do that.” Draco paused, realizing that he hadn’t addressed the main item his father had raised. “And with regard to my… interest in anyone, as much as I might hope for a real relationship with her, she’s struggling with the idea of just being friends, so I think that ship has sailed.”

Lucius met his son’s eyes with a twinkle in his own and an amused grin on his face. “She’s not as indifferent as you think, Draco. We’ve formed… quite a bond with her in the last three years, and I venture to say that I know her nearly as well as I know you. Your mother and I… would not object to a more formal arrangement between the two of you.”

Draco laughed aloud at that. “Is that what you two are up to? You want me to have a ‘formal arrangement’ with Hermione?” He shook his head. “What in Merlin’s name makes you think there’s even the slightest possibility of that happening?”

The elder man reclaimed the seat beside his son and valiantly resisted the urge to smirk. “You’re a charming young man. She’s a lovely young woman, who happens to have given you a daughter. Admittedly, circumstances were less than ideal, but the fact remains that the two of you will forever be linked by your little girl. Hermione has shown incredible capacity for kindness, forgiveness, and tolerance. If you court her properly, I’ve little doubt that you could be… successful.”

“Father, how much wine did you have with dinner?” Draco scoffed. “Our daughter is tangible, living proof of the horrors I committed against her. I’m more aware than anyone alive of her capacity for forgiveness and the innate goodness of her heart, and I accept that she and I may find our way to friendship someday, but the likelihood that she’d be able to forget what I did to her enough to entertain the thought of an actual relationship with me is just about zero.”

Lucius couldn’t help but note the tone of desperate sadness and defeat in his son’s voice and wanted nothing more than to tell him he needn’t worry, that everything would work out. That message, however, would be inadvisable for countless reasons and he held his tongue for a moment, thinking about what he might say to assuage Draco’s concerns while not tipping his hand.

“I repeat my offer. I’ll help you.”

“How could you possibly help me court Hermione? She feels what she feels. I know her well enough to know that she won’t be manipulated.”

“I’m not talking about manipulation. I’m talking about advising you on the most effective ways to get her to notice you in a positive light. The woman has been living with us for three years, for Merlin’s sake. I know her and what she responds to and rejects. I swear on my wand, I can help. Have a little trust, Draco. Your old man is not unschooled in the ways of romance, and I’d be most amenable to the idea of… coaching you.”

“You mean like Cyrano to my Christian?”

“Well, not exactly, as Cyrano is ultimately a tragedy of love found too late, but in the limited fashion of aiding your actions, yes.”

“Hmm, maybe that wasn’t the best example, but I think I understand what you’re saying. You’d really be willing to help me win Hermione? Again, I have to ask, why?”

“Again, I say why not? You feel for her. Your mother and I love her as one of our own. You already share a child. We think you’d be a most successful and appropriate… match.”

“You’ve given this some thought,” Draco observed, his suspicion rising again.

“Well, that’s not untrue. Your continuing concern over her well-being was an impetus in us… exploring the prospect. There are so many things about the two of you that are well-matched. Both of you are quite intelligent, well-read, tenacious, and goal-driven. Before the unfortunate events of your late teen years, you were quite soft-hearted and, dare I say, sweet-natured, at least with your mother. She was most proud of that. At the time, I didn’t see the value, I’m sorry and embarrassed to say. It seems to me that the warm temperament you showed as a young one has been rekindled at least to a degree through your therapy. That, I firmly believe, will appeal to Hermione. You just need to let her see that part of you.”

“How can I show her who I’ve become if she’s closed to having a relationship with me?” Draco despaired.

“Don’t approach it from a relationship standpoint. Court her friendship and cooperation in parenting your daughter. Take advantage of the agreement the two of you made to learn about each other for Louisa’s sake. You’ll have at least one hour every week to show her the man you’ve become. I’d venture a guess that there will be many occasions when you’ll need to be together for far longer than that. It’s quite a lot of work to raise a toddler, and since she’s just begun a new career at St. Mungo’s, you’ll have numerous opportunities to spend time with Louisa. Let her see what a good father you will be. That will not go unnoticed.”

“How do you know I can be a good father?”

Lucius quirked an eyebrow. “I watched how you reacted to and interacted with Louisa. It’s been less than a day and you’re already thoroughly enamored. And have you forgotten how many conversations you and I have had about the two little boys you cared for in Salem? It’s clear that you like children, and they respond well to you. I have no doubt at all that you’ll be a wonderful father. Just relax and follow your heart.”

Draco’s worried frown had lessened at his father’s encouragement. He was right that caring for the Roy boys had been a great turning point in his own healing. Hearing the advice to “relax” and “follow his heart” had been a bit stunning. When had his father become a man who recognized the value in such emotional maturity? It seemed that he was not the only one who had changed and grown in recent years. “So tell me a little bit about how this… ‘coaching’ would work.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hermione’s sleeves were wet to the elbow. No matter how many times she rolled them up, pushed them, or put sticking charms on them, Louisa’s bath time ensured that her own clothing would be as water-logged as her daughter’s bath toys. The child had obviously had a very long, stressful and tiring day, but she clearly hadn’t been the only one. Hermione’s patience was waning and the girl’s uncharacteristic whining about bedtime was not helping matters. The young mother was now second-guessing her decision to rouse her for a bath rather than putting her straight to bed.

“Papa Drake read my story,” Louisa demanded.

Hermione sighed. “Papa Draco is with Pépère. Maybe he can read you a story tomorrow when you wake up,” she offered in compromise. Negotiating with a two-year-old was often more complicated than it appeared.

“No! Story for sleep time,” Louisa pouted.

“How about if I read your story tonight and Papa Draco reads your story tomorrow night?” Hermione countered.

Louisa scrunched her nose, considering her mother’s offer. “No. Papa Drake tonight and you tomorrow.”

“Merlin help me,” Hermione muttered under her breath at her frighteningly bright daughter’s calculated rebuttal. She lifted Louisa out of the tub, wrapping her in a thick yellow towel. “Let’s get you dressed for bed, then I’ll check to see if Papa Draco can come read to you.”

The girl stopped squirming and beamed with joy. “Yay! Papa Drake read now.”

“Maybe.” Hermione finished dressing the girl in her pajamas and set her on the bed, her favorite book in easy reach. “Be a good girl and sit right here until Mummy comes back,” she warned, calling for Anjie to keep an eye on her while she went in search of Draco.

Two minutes later, Hermione breathed deeply as she stood before the closed door of Lucius’ study, fist raised to rap on the wooden surface. She knocked twice and waited for a response. Rather than hearing Lucius call for her to enter, the door was pulled open by the man she’d come to find. This, for some reason, startled her. “Draco!”

Her unease vaguely amused the young man. “Hermione! What can I do for you?” He smiled at her.

“Actually, I’m here at your daughter’s behest,” she noted wryly. “I’ve been ordered to produce you for bedtime story duty or suffer the consequences of a temperamental two-year-old. Are you willing?” she inquired, trying to leave any note of desperation out of her voice.

Draco laughed warmly. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve done story duty. I’d be happy to. Lead the way,” he responded with a slight bow of his head. He glanced over his shoulder to see his father twisting his lips, fighting mightily against releasing what surely would have been a guffaw. He raised his eyebrow in warning and hastened to follow Hermione to their daughter’s bedroom.

Hermione, confused about his statement about story-time experience, looked at him with a furrowed brow. “Who have you been reading bedtime stories to?” she wondered.

“My therapists’ two little boys, although they’re not quite so little anymore. Thomas is now ten and Daryl just turned eight. They were seven and five when I started babysitting for them,” he relayed.

“Really? I had no idea. Did your parents know about this?”

“Sure. I used to talk about the boys all the time. Why?”

“Just surprised, I guess. They never mentioned that to me, and they used to talk about their conversations and visits with you frequently, and at length. Kind of odd to leave that out, don’t you think?” she pressed.

“Maybe a little. I mean, it certainly wasn’t something I was concealing.”

Hermione stiffened at Draco’s words and he realized his intimation.

“Oh, sorry. I honestly didn’t mean anything by that. No offense was intended.”

She relaxed a bit, offering, “Then none was taken,” in reply. She would deal later with the question of why this not-so-little tidbit had been omitted from the Malfoys’ typically detailed recounting of their visits with their son.

“So, you were a care-giver for two boys? How did that come about?” she probed.

“As I mentioned, they are the children of my therapists, who are a married couple. We made an arrangement where I could look after them in exchange for one of my therapy appointments each week,” Draco explained.

“Really? I thought your father was paying for your therapy sessions,” Hermione noted.

Draco wondered just how much he should reveal about the circumstances of his additional treatment and hesitated at divulging such a sensitive topic. His first inclination – to keep it to himself – suddenly felt out of balance with what he wanted to achieve, and he decided to be honest. Details weren’t necessary to start, but he would answer questions that she posed, he decided. “That’s partly true. He obtained permission from the Ministry to pay for my psychotherapy sessions. My Healer suggested the additional treatment after we’d met a few times and specific issues came to light. Since we felt fairly certain that the Ministry wouldn’t approve the additional expenses, and I didn’t really have the money to pay for it, we worked out this agreement where I’d watch the boys on Saturdays while they held patient appointments.”

“I don’t understand. If the Ministry approved the first sessions, why would they deny the others? It doesn’t make sense,” Hermione observed, feeling somewhat indignant on Draco’s behalf.

“It’s because of the specific issue that we felt sure they would reject the request,” Draco amended.

“What issue would they deny? If you needed help, you needed it. The topic shouldn’t matter. What was it?” Hermione prodded. In a matter of seconds, she began to regret her question as she saw Draco’s face flush red. Had she made him angry?

“Um, the therapy was for sexual dysfunction, Hermione,” he quietly replied, not looking away but not making direct eye contact, either.

“Oh,” she breathed. “Oh! I’m so sorry, Draco; I didn’t mean to embarrass you. It’s actually quite understandable, given everything that you went through. I was just thinking like a Mind Healer instead of a… a friend. You don’t have to say anymore about it. But, in my opinion, they should have allowed your father to pay for that too. It’s just as critical as any other treatment area.”

“Look, Hermione, it really is fine. If they had agreed to allow my father to pay for it, I wouldn’t have developed such fulfilling relationships with Thomas and Daryl, and I’m very glad that I did. I got the help that I needed and I made two friends in the process.”

“I’m glad you’re satisfied with the way it turned out. I suppose that it was a good outcome in the long run,” she allowed.

“It was. I learned nearly as much from spending time with the boys as I did in my therapy sessions, so I’m thoroughly happy with the path and the results,” he avowed. He watched as her lips twitched and her eyes flashed. From what he knew of her, he was completely certain that she was dying to ask questions about his specific problems and his treatment protocols. Her curiosity was obviously slaying her. This, however, he was not ready to discuss with her. Certainly not today, maybe not ever. Only in the unlikely event that they ever developed an intimate relationship would he consider sharing the details of his problems and their resolutions. 

“But you’re… better now?” She just couldn’t help herself; that much was clear.

Draco smiled, amused mostly at his very accurate pegging of what was going on in her head. “Much better, thank you.” The sharp nod of his head was intended as punctuation to the topic and she was observant and sensitive enough to interpret it correctly.

“Good. I’m happy for you. Now, let’s see about Louisa’s story time,” she stated firmly, letting him see that she had accepted his conclusive remark. She pushed the door open and waved him into their daughter’s room.

He was greeted not by the enthusiastic welcome both he and Hermione had anticipated but by the sight of a child who was thoroughly, completely, deeply asleep, still clutching her favorite book in one hand and a stuffed unicorn in the other. He turned to Hermione and whispered, “So much for that.” He reached over to gently pry the book from her hand – it wouldn’t do for her to scratch herself on its hard edges – and covered her with the blanket that was folded at her feet. He leaned over and kissed Louisa’s head, stroking her curls gently. “Good night, little one.” He stepped back and watched her for a long moment, unaware of the intense scrutiny that the scene had attracted from the girl’s mother.

Finally, he turned away from the sleeping toddler and addressed Hermione with a minor, though solemn promise, “I’ll read to her every night that we’re all here, if she wishes.” He paused for a moment, thinking. “Maybe we could do it together; allow her to see us as united in her care,” he offered.

Hermione eyed him intently, wondering about the substantive and obvious changes in the young man’s approach to life in the last three years. She’d known on an intellectual level that the boy he’d been in fifth year and beyond was a largely manufactured persona, but to see the “healed” Draco Malfoy behave so… normally and cordially was both confusing and disconcerting. What he asked was not only reasonable, but undeniably sensitive. How could she possibly refuse him the request? “That would be… nice, Draco. I’m sure she’ll enjoy it.” She graced him with a tight smile.

He returned a beaming and genuine one. “As will I. Thank you, Hermione.” He nodded to her in farewell, announcing that he was quite knackered and ready for his own bed. With a glance back to Louisa, he turned and exited the room, leaving Hermione to wonder once again how she would adjust to dealing daily with the new - and substantially different - Draco Malfoy.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Narcissa accepted the snifter of brandy that her husband offered and, kicking off her shoes, settled on the blue and white brocade loveseat with her legs curled under her. “So how did he react?” she pressed, anxious to know how the conversation between father and son had played out.

“Well, he was raised a Slytherin and a Malfoy, so he was naturally a bit suspicious of our motives. For once, though, I spoke the bare truth, and I think he believed me.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That I loved him and wanted him to be happy.”

“That really is the long and short of it, isn’t it,” she agreed. “How did he react to your offer?”

“Again, he was skeptical, but I think he ultimately welcomes my advice. He was quite adamant about not forming any… romantic attachments while he was in Salem, so his real experience in the art of wooing a woman is just about nil. What he would have learned in his teen years will need to be learned in the heat of the battle now. His instincts are good, I’m sure; it’s the finer points on which I’ll be glad to guide him. There’s the added advantage, which I think he recognizes and appreciates, that we know the object of his affections rather well,” Lucius noted with a chuckle.

“And the intelligent young man that he is undoubtedly saw the value in exploiting that knowledge,” she concluded.

“Of course. He doesn’t want to create a situation where she is uncomfortable or hesitant in his presence, but he also doesn’t want to pretend that he has no feelings for her. We agreed that a strategy of building their parenting partnership and using that to get to know each other as individuals would yield the best response from Hermione.”

“While I don’t disagree with you in the whole, Lucius, you must remember that she is a strong-minded woman. She will quickly see through any display of emotion or feelings that is not thoroughly genuine. And you know she will not be swayed at all with pretty words and prettier baubles. The techniques you used to woo me when we were young will be completely wasted on Hermione.”

“I agree. No one would be likely to accuse you of being shallow, dear, but you and I both know that the depth of her intellect and insight far outstrip that of both of us - maybe even combined. It’s a good thing that our son has the capacity to stay close in that regard. No, the basic approach is his, as it should be, and I will provide guidance based on what I know of her specific preferences. Your own observations and input would be welcome, I’m sure.”

“Draco will not want his mother interfering in his love life, Lucius,” she firmly stated.

“Who said anything about communicating with Draco on this? You and I will put our heads together, and I will relay any… appropriate messages and observations,” Lucius instructed, waving the shrinking remains of his cigar with his gesture. “More brandy, love? I feel a celebration is in order.” The devilish grin he displayed was a clear indication that he’d had his fair share of libation and was feeling no pain.

“Any more brandy will have me asleep in minutes, dear,” she replied. “Besides, I’d rather find other ways to celebrate.” She grazed her husband’s body with her eyes, and he got her message.

He rose from his chair and extended a hand to aid her in standing. “I do so like the way you think, wife.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

As tired as Draco had claimed to be, he lay awake in his bed, staring at the ceiling, more than an hour after having left Hermione and Louisa in the little girl’s room. With all the trauma and drama he’d expected he would ever have, his exhaustion had given way to exhilaration, confusion, hope, and frustration. It appeared that everything he could possibly want in his life was within reach, but still beyond his grasp.

His head was spinning with everything he’d learned today and he had to acknowledge that it had been a difficult emotional roller-coaster from the moment he’d seen the toddler in his mother’s arms hours earlier. Draco’s stomach churned with the intensity of feeling that enveloped him. As much of a jolt as it had been to see Hermione on his first day back, discovering the truth of the life-long impact of his actions on her had been nearly incomprehensible. He was fairly certain that he’d not absorbed the total impact of everything he’d learned today. Figuring out where to go and what to do from here would take a little time. He was seriously considering accepting the offer extended by the Doctors Roy to call over the Floo should any crises arise. This, he thought, probably qualified. A quick mental calculation told him that it was late afternoon in Boston; he might be successful in reaching one of them if he could drag himself out of bed now.

With a deep sigh, he threw the duvet and sheet off his body and swung his legs over the side of the bed, planting his feet firmly on the soft, woolen area rug. Reaching for his wand on the nightstand beside him, Draco pushed himself into a standing position and moved to the chest at the foot of his bed to retrieve the thick cotton dressing gown one of the house-elves had apparently left for him. He had no idea where it had come from, but he appreciated its warmth in the chilly April night.

The Manor was quiet as he made the trek to his father’s study, where the Floo was enabled for international calling. It seemed that even the house-elves had completed their labors for the day and had found their slumber. Only the rhythmic ticking of the mahogany grandfather clock in the grand foyer broke the silence. A soft chime told him that it was now a quarter after the hour. His parents were almost certainly in their suite and he knew that Hermione had retired after saying goodnight to Louisa; he’d heard the door to her suite close moments after he’d left them. Knowing that she was only a few feet away as he rested in his bed had created its own stress. 

He stepped into the room and warded the door to protect his privacy. The fire in the hearth had gone out; he’d need to reignite it to make the call. Lifting his wand with a flick, he spoke the incantation, “Incendio,” and stepped back from the momentary roar of flame. It took a few seconds to settle during which Draco dipped his hand into the copper urn on the mantle for a fistful of Floo powder. He tossed it into the fire, turning its color from orange to green, and knelt to insert his head, enunciating the address clearly. “Doctor David Roy’s office, Boston, Massachusetts, United States.”

It took only a moment for a surprised therapist to greet his erstwhile patient. “Draco! What’s up?”

“I was hoping you might be able to spare a few moments for me, David. I’ve come home to some… startling news and I need a little guidance in dealing with it,” Draco said, the hint of desperation clear in his tone.

“Of course, Draco. I’d be happy to give you some time. I was just making notes after my last patient and killing time until my next appointment at half past six. What’s going on?” he asked curiously, knowing that the likelihood of some drama was fairly high after having been away for so long.

The hesitation in Draco’s reply was telling. The sense of confidence and self-assuredness that he’d developed in recent months had deserted him; the events of the day had clearly shaken him to the core.

“I, uh, don’t quite know where to begin; there’s so much to tell,” he started.

“Take your time, Draco. I’ve got more than an hour. Just breathe. Relax,” he instructed.

“I saw Hermione and she’s got a daughter,” he spoke in a rush.

The therapist’s eyes widened, but he held his tongue for nothing more than a prompt. “And?”

“She’s mine. From the… rape,” he confessed, the anguish of speaking it aloud ringing in the small office.

David paused to consider how to proceed. The temptation to gasp with shock was nearly impossible to resist; it took all of his professional will and training to maintain a mask of calm for the patient he’d come to like and care for. “And how does that make you feel?” The standard fall-back seemed the most prudent at the moment.

“Horrible. Wonderful. Angry. Confused beyond belief,” Draco confessed.

“Let’s take this one piece at a time. What’s horrible?” the Healer prompted.

“That what I did to her had a more lasting effect than I even imagined. She’ll always remember that her daughter was conceived in violence, not in love. Of all the things I’ve had to atone or seek forgiveness for, this has to top the list,” he spoke morosely.

“Have you had any conversation or direct communication with Hermione about this?”

“Yes. All day. That’s part of the confusion.”

“Fair enough. We’ll come back to that in a moment. What’s wonderful?”

“Louisa. My… daughter. She’s sweet and bright and beautiful and loving. Everything I could ever hope for in my child.”

“Why are you angry?” David asked, though he had a guess of his own.

“Because they had three years to tell me about her and kept her from me.”

Got it in one, he thought. “Do you know why?”

“Yes. That’s a big part of what Hermione and I spoke about today. It was her decision, and she bound my parents with an Unbreakable Vow. She says she was trying to spare me the additional anxiety while I was in treatment. I understand her reasoning, but I obviously disagree with her choice. I should have been told, maybe not right at the beginning, but certainly after she was born.” Draco breathed heavily, feeling some of the more intense frustration from earlier in the day return as he recounted their conversation.

“And what was the result of your discussion with Hermione?”

“I tried to explain to her how… important it was to me – to have that child exist and not know about it. I understand that she was making the decisions that she thought were right for her and for everyone, and my head can comprehend why she did what she did. What she didn’t know then, and probably still doesn’t quite grasp yet, is that the very thing that she kept from me was one of my heart’s greatest desires.”

“How do you feel about the fact that she had the child rather than terminate the pregnancy?” David probed quietly.

“Grateful. I imagine that if I’d been in her position, I’d not have made the same choice. That she went through with it and clearly loves Louisa is just astounding. It feels like I’ve been given another incredible gift.”

“How are you dealing with your anger?”

Draco sighed deeply. “I’m trying to see beyond it and let it go. After everything she did for me, how can I hold this against her? We’ve agreed to forgive each other for our many transgressions – mostly mine – and try to work together civilly to raise Louisa.”

“That’s very mature and sensitive of both of you,” the doctor observed. He hesitated a moment before framing his next question. “How about your feelings for Hermione? What impact has this new revelation made?”

“That’s a difficult question to answer, David. I’m certain that I love her, and you know that I have for a long time. I’m in awe of all the things she’s done for me and given to me. And I’m more than a little annoyed with her at the moment.”

David laughed loudly. “Trust me, Draco, even the very best relationships between partners will have times when you’d rather have a Bludger to the head than spend five minutes together. Kate and I don’t argue often, but when we do, it’s a doozy! Doesn’t mean I love her any less; I’m just pissed off at the moment. Happens all the time, so don’t be troubled about that.”

“I suppose that’s true, and you’re right, it doesn’t change my basic feelings. I just need to understand her thinking and emotions, and respect that she did what she thought was right in the circumstances. There was nothing malicious in her actions, I’m quite sure.”

“Has she given you any indication of her… attitude toward you?” David wondered.

“She hasn’t by any means come out and said ‘I hate you,’ but I think she’s a little… skittish about spending a lot of time with me. I’m not very good at hiding my feelings these days, and I think she’d rather not have me mooning over her. I think she… respects that I’ve started to pull my life together, and I feel fairly confident that she has forgiven me for our past… difficulties, at least on an intellectual level. Whether her heart will ever forget is another story entirely.”

“Fair enough. So, what are you confused about?”

“Everything! She and Louisa have been living with my parents this whole time, and none of them said a word about it. My parents are as complicit in this as Hermione. I’m certain my father and mother are up to something, but I don’t know exactly what. I can tell you without a doubt that it is related to Hermione, because my father offered to help me gain her attention. My father has also named Louisa my heir and provided for them financially. It seems that some of that was as much a surprise to Hermione as it was to me. There’s a lot going on and I’m not sure how to react or cope with all of it.”

“You don’t think your father would have tried to arrange a marriage between the two of you, do you? Isn’t that still fairly common among the old families in the UK?”

“I doubt that, because it would require her consent or that of her family. Since she has no family left after the war, the permission would need to come directly from her. I just can’t see that happening, so I think we can rule that out,” Draco concluded. “But there are certainly other things he could concoct, given enough motivation. I just haven’t figured out what, yet.”

“What conclusion have you reached about what you’re going to do in light of these new circumstances?”

“We have made a few decisions, but there still seems to be an awful lot up for discussion. Hermione was planning to move out of the Manor when I returned, but we’ve agreed that she and Louisa will stay and I will live in our London townhouse until I find a place of my own. We’re going to have set times to visit with Louisa so that her life isn’t disrupted too much. We’ve also agreed to spend an hour together each week to get to know each other better and to make decisions with regard to Louisa’s needs.”

“I take it that the ‘we’ is Hermione and you,” David surmised. At Draco’s nod, he continued, “That all sounds reasonable and practical. It will also give you an opportunity to become acquainted with the elements of Hermione’s life that you don’t know much about.”

“That’s true, but it also scares me. What do I know about building any kind of friendship with her, much less a relationship? I’m afraid that I’ll blow any chance I could possibly have with her before we ever get past cordiality.”

“Draco, you are an intelligent and engaging young man. The fear you have is completely normal for someone embarking on wooing the target of your interest. It’s one of the reasons that I often encouraged you to date while you were here – to work out the kinks, so to speak. Since you were so opposed to doing that, I’m not surprised that you’re feeling some trepidation now. You’re going to have little choice but to learn as you go along, my friend.”

The young wizard laughed humorlessly. “That’s exactly what my father said. He actually offered to give me tips on ‘courting’ her. I know Hermione well enough to know that she won’t respond to the things that my father did when he was courting my mother.”

“But your father does have the advantage of living with Hermione for the last three years. And he’s not a fool; he may have some advice that’s worth heeding. Don’t dismiss it out of hand.” David paused for a moment before posing another question. “What about your career goals?”

“I need to reconsider some of that. I have a daughter now, and I want to spend time with her and get to know her. I also want her to be proud of her father, so I need to do something with my life. We’ve talked about that a lot, David, and nothing has changed in that I want to make my own way in the world. I have a lot to atone for and I fully intend to find some way to pay my emotional debts as much as I paid my legal ones.”

“So the restaurant…”

“Is on hold for the foreseeable future.”

“Have you given more thought to your ‘atonement’ plan? The work you started here was so effective, Draco,” David praised.

A flash of revelation seemed to jar Draco from his wallowing. “Not until this very moment, but I think I’ve got an idea that will satisfy many of my goals. You, Dr. Roy, are a bloody genius!” Draco enthused.

“Don’t thank me. Whatever is going on in your head is your own creation.”

“Maybe so, but you asked the right questions that helped me connect the dots into a picture that might actually make a real difference. If we hadn’t had this conversation, I don’t know that I would have reached the same end.”

“Give yourself a little credit, Draco. It might have taken a few days, but you probably would have arrived there on your own.”

“Fine. So we make a good team. How’s that?” Draco needled with a smile.

“I’ll accept that on one condition.”

“Yes?”

“You acknowledge that, at this moment, I truly have no earthly idea what your plan is, regardless of whether anything that I said helped it spring to mind.”

“Done.”

“So what else can I do for you this evening, Draco?”

“I think that’s all, Doc. It really helped to talk about this with someone who wasn’t in the midst of it all,” he acknowledged.

“My pleasure. Glad to help.”

“Thank you for fitting me in without an appointment. I really appreciate it. Will you send me an invoice so I can transfer the money to your account?” Draco requested.

David waved a hand. “This one’s on the house. You’re my friend as much as my patient.”

“That’s kind and generous of you, David. I won’t forget it.”

“No problem. Now go get some rest; it’s got to be nearly midnight there. I’m sure we’ll talk again soon,” he offered.

“I hope so. Please give my regards to Kate and the kids. I miss them already,” Draco admitted.

“We’re just a Floo call or Portkey away. You’re welcome here any time. And we’d love to meet Louisa – and Hermione – one day soon.”

“That would be fabulous. I hope we can make it happen. Good night, David.”

“Good night, Draco,” he replied, cutting off the Floo connection with a wave.

Draco backed out of the fireplace and sat back on his heels for a moment. He felt substantially better than he had an hour ago, and had a new idea that might be something to help him rebuild his reputation along with his battered psyche. This day was turning out to be not so bad after all.


	14. Needs

It had been five weeks since Draco had confessed his deeply buried feelings for Hermione in a moment of both clarity and desperation. While the great weight of denial had been lifted from his shoulders, the burden of guilt for the consequences of his feelings had not been relieved. He felt that he was living a “two steps forward, three steps back” existence with regard to his emotional and psycho-sexual health. Both of his therapists had been especially watchful and diligent about his guidance through a difficult period and had been careful not to push too hard for additional breakthroughs that the young man wouldn’t be able to absorb.

Therefore, Kate Roy had been suitably stunned when Draco raised a question during their most recent therapy session…

_“Dr. Kate, you’ve told me a few times that my sexual experience and… situation are outside the norm for a man of my age, and I certainly appreciate that what I’ve done and been manipulated to do are not the usual path, by a very long stretch. Can you help me understand what is normal in terms of the sexual needs and experience of a bloke in his early twenties?”_

_That he would raise such a proactive question was quite out of character with the reticent young man she’d come to know, and it made her desperately curious about his motivation. “Before I answer that specifically, let me ask a question or two of you. What’s prompting you to ask this?” she wondered._

_Draco had blushed from neck to hairline before opening his mouth to reply. “I’ve just been feeling more… interested in sexual things lately,” he hedged. “And I wondered if what I was feeling was… aberrant in some way,” he added in a rush._

_“Do you feel like your reactions are aberrant?” she probed._

_“I, uh, don’t think so, but I don’t really know,” Draco confessed. “That’s why I wanted some perspective from you.”_

_“Tell me more about what you’ve been feeling,” she ordered, gently._

_He sighed dramatically, stalling as much as the long breath allowed. “I seem to be… aroused more often and less…ambivalent about it. I’m taking fewer cold showers.”_

_“Ah. So you’re ‘giving in’ to the urge more often?” she interpreted._

_“Yes,” he replied without elaboration._

_“And why does that feel ‘aberrant’ to you?”_

_“Well, I’m not sure that it does. It’s just that it’s… out of the norm for my typical behavior. I want to make sure that I’m heading in the right direction and not falling backwards in my progress.” He stared at his shoes, but the worry lines in his forehead could not be disguised._

_“Draco, look at me,” Kate commanded. When his sad eyes met hers, she beamed at him like a proud mother at her babe’s first steps. “This is totally normal and healthy. As long as you’re not getting aroused by violence or harm, you’re doing just fine. In fact, it’s what I’ve been hoping to hear from you for quite some time.”_

_“Oh, no, nothing like that!” he hastened to tell her. “It’s been my… usual stimulus, just stronger and more often.”_

_“Okay, there’s nothing wrong with that. I know how opposed you are to finding other female companionship, so we’re not going to travel that path for the moment. But it’s certainly a healthy development that you are accepting and acting on your urges with less reluctance.”_

_“Good,” he responded, breathing a deep sigh of relief. “I was a little worried that I was becoming overly… obsessed with it.”_

_“Well, how often are we talking about here?” she probed, with just a hint of teasing in her tone._

_“Uh, a few times a week.”_

_“What’s ‘a few?’”_

_“Five, six, maybe,” he said with a gulp._

_“Oh, Draco, you don’t know how thoroughly normal you are,” she praised._

_“Well, actually, that’s the point. I really don’t. That’s what I was hoping you could help me understand,” he pleaded earnestly._

_This had been the first time the young man had actually sought out substantive knowledge about sexuality rather than being spoon-fed information on an as-needed basis and Kate knew what a dramatic leap this had been for him. Their first year of sessions had been almost entirely devoted to repairing his battered emotional health to a point where he could accept that he “deserved” to be a healthy, sexual being. This was a breakthrough of massive proportion, on the heels of his previous major success in acknowledging his feelings for Miss Granger. Kate was heartened that there was real hope for a full emotional recovery from his long and harrowing ordeal._

_“Did your parents really teach you so little about what it meant to be… male?” she marveled._

_“We’ve spoken about how traditional and conservative my family is, Doc. Surely, you know the answer to that question,” Draco scoffed._

_“I suppose I do. And sadly, it’s a far too common approach in rearing children. On one level, I suppose I should be grateful as it keeps me employed. But the altruist in me wants young people to grow up healthy and knowledgeable about one of the most basic functions of life. Sad, really,” she concluded._

_“I don’t disagree, but we have to deal with it as it is rather than how we would wish it to be, don’t we?”_

_“You know, Draco, there are times when you are so very, very young in your thinking and others when you are wise well beyond your years,” the therapist observed, eyeing the wizard with fondness. “But to answer your question, the definition of ‘normal’ is remarkably broad. Sexuality comes in many forms, and people like what they like and do what they do for many different reasons. The key is to ensure that the behavior is not unwelcome or harmful to an individual or their partner.”_

_“So you’re saying that as long as both partners are accepting of a sexual behavior, then it’s considered normal?” Draco summarized incredulously. “What about the sick things my aunt used to do?”_

_“Well, if her partner was willing, then fundamentally, yes. If the partner was unwilling, it classifies as abnormal, or even criminal in many circumstances, such as if the behavior is forced in any way, coerced under the influence of a drug or alcohol, or with threat of bodily harm. There really are only a few behaviors that are truly considered thoroughly taboo in our society. In addition to forced sexual activity, they include bestiality, incest, and pedophilia, things like that which are really on the fringe.”_

_“So I should consider myself normal if I get aroused and, uh, self-gratify a few times a week by the thought of someone that I’m attracted to,” he concluded. He pushed away with great force the memory of the night he’d taken the Dark Mark and what his aunt had done to him in the name of ritual. It had not been his behavior; it had been hers._

_“Absolutely. Red-blooded, one hundred percent, normal man. The only thing abnormal about that scenario would be if you didn’t do it at all – which you have clearly overcome – or if you were doing it constantly throughout the day, to the point where it interfered with your ability to function in normal society.”_

_“You mean, like if I were… doing it three or four times a day?” He seemed somehow both appalled and fascinated by the idea._

_“Yeah, something like that.” She smiled at his stunned expression. “Even that wouldn’t be considered enough for intervention in most cases, especially if we were talking about a sixteen-year-old boy. A bit much, but not really ‘aberrant’ to borrow your word.” She watched as he nodded solemnly._

_“Doc, I have another question, or maybe it’s a…concern,” he began. At her encouraging nod, Draco continued. “When I was under the potions, I did many horrible things. I’m thankful that I really don’t remember most of them, but… what if they influence my sexual behavior in the future? What if I… revert to those horrible things?”_

_“What are your fantasies and urges like now? What kinds of images and feelings get you aroused?” she asked in a matter-of-fact way._

_He thought for only a moment before flashes began to fill his brain. “Her image. Hermione’s face, especially her smile, and body. Kissing her. Making love with her.”_

_“Then I don’t think you have anything to worry about. Unless you are chasing away violent or disturbing thoughts, what you’re focusing on is pretty tame.”_

_He shook his head in denial at her caveat. “No, anything spontaneous is very… pleasant. I know we’ve talked a little about deliberate fantasy, but I really haven’t…” His voice trailed away as he doubted his readiness to move to that milestone in his healing._

_“I think that you will be ready to take that step very, very soon, Draco. You’ve shown remarkable emotional progress in the last few weeks, and we’ve already covered the guidelines. I think you should consider a first attempt before our next appointment.”_

That pronouncement by Kate Roy had Draco in his current state of anxiety. He had only two more days before their next meeting and hadn’t yet worked up the courage to take that next big step in his healing and development process. The assignment, as he understood it, was to deliberately create a sexual fantasy about the subject of his choice until he felt aroused. Whether he took it any further was optional. In his head, he could hear Dr. Kate’s frequent teasing admonition, “Why waste a perfectly good erection?” He groaned aloud at the thought, causing one of his co-workers to look at him in perplexity.

“What’s wrong with you?” the other night shift waiter, Gerry Lake, asked.

Draco, mortified to be caught thinking about his sex problems while at work, quickly sought a plausible excuse for his vocalization. “I, uh, forgot to add the sour cream side order for the last plate I delivered. Better go get it now before I get tied up with something else.” He excused himself quickly and dashed to the back of the kitchen, then to the Men’s Room for a brief respite. He locked the door and moved to the small porcelain sink to splash cold water on his face. He glanced at the inexpensive Timex wristwatch he’d bought at a local discount store. Two more hours on his shift. While he really enjoyed his job, he couldn’t wait for quitting time tonight; his mind was clearly elsewhere.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hermione was busy – busier than she could ever recall being, even in the depths of the war, even as she’d struggled with the intense challenges of deciphering often-conflicting clues about Horcruxes. She’d not anticipated how taxing it would be to study the art and science of Healing while caring for an infant. Lucius and Narcissa had helped – often – but Louisa was her baby, her responsibility; she’d not shirk that duty in any way, ever.

Even as she’d told her friends, and Louisa’s grandparents, the truth about how much she loved and adored her daughter, there were days when she couldn’t help but feel the tiniest thread of glumness. If Louisa had not been born, her life would be undeniably easier. That was a source of self-recrimination and guilt. She forced it down, swallowed it, ignored it, and buried it under her busyness.

When she got home from her classes this afternoon, she saw that another two or three scrolls of parchment had been added to the growing stack of messages that littered the top of the desk in the small study that Lucius had furnished as part of her suite on the second floor of the East Wing. She sighed tiredly, resolving to deal with them the next morning. Tonight, she was just too exhausted and still had a three-foot homework scroll to complete on the physiology of the human nervous system. Louisa’s restlessness on the previous night had meant little sleep for Mum; she thought the child might be developing an ear infection, if her periodic tugging and crying had been any indication. Just one more thing to deal with. She knew she could call on Anjie for a potion to give the child, but she felt even guiltier when she delegated elements of Louisa’s care to the resident house-elf nanny. She’d suck it up and make the potion herself. It would also serve as practice for her Medical Potions class. “Multi-tasking,” she murmured aloud, “the story of my life.”

Hermione’s mood shifted quickly and dramatically when she opened the door to Louisa’s nursery. Her baby was in her crib, balancing on hands and knees, rocking back and forth as if trying to build momentum for a forward lurch. She lifted her head as she heard the door open and saw the approach of her mother. “Mmmm. Mmmmm,” she cooed happily as Hermione approached.

Hermione’s stomach churned for a moment; she hated when she wallowed in self-pity. This beautiful child, who loved her so thoroughly and whom she truly adored with every fiber, needed her and wanted her. She felt a smile creep from the depths of her heart and she reached out for the girl, lifting her from her crib and cradling her tight to her chest. “Hello, my little precious. Did you miss Mummy?” she whispered. “Are you feeling better, baby? Does your ear still hurt?” she asked, certainly not expecting an answer. She was stunned to hear a reply.

“Missy Louisa feels better,” the tiny grey-green nanny reported.

“Anjie! You startled me! How do you know?”

“Not tugging anymores,” she answered with a simple shrug. “Anjie giveses her the potion Missy Narcissa used to giveses to little Draco when he tuggeded at earses. Better than the ones we hadses for Master Lucius when he was littles.”

“Oh,” Hermione breathed, tears swimming in her eyes.

The tiny elf stared wide-eyed. “Is okay, Missy Hermione, sheses all better now,” she reassured, not understanding that the very fact was the source of the young witch’s distress.

“I know, Anjie. Thank you for taking care of her. I, I… just should have been here to help her,” she sniffed.

“Is my job when yous nots here, Missy. I promise I takes really good cares of her. I hads seven families of Malfoys,” she said, proudly touting her long experience, as she often reminded the young mother.

“And I trust you completely, Anjie, I promise,” Hermione answered. “My… issue is something else. It’ll be… fine.”

The wizened creature had seen many fascinating relationships between parents and children in her century of caring for Malfoy offspring. Though still young for a house-elf, Anjie’s experience as a Wizarding world nanny far outstripped that of any five Muggle counterparts, combined. While she’d not seen this particular combination of anxiety and guilt – working mothers were quite the oddity in pureblood circles - a young mother’s worry and self-doubt were not new to her. She was remarkably intuitive and keenly observant. Her lacking grammar and diction skills did not make her a mental light-weight; she was simply uneducated in that discipline. Her ability in childcare and in hand-holding for nervous parents was, without dispute, top form. Lucius Malfoy would have never allowed his granddaughter to be cared for by anyone other than his own trusted nanny, the beloved creature who had aided in caring for him and for his own son since the day each had been born. Thus, Anjie felt eminently confident in her insights and actions.

“Missy Hermione, you has to lets peoples help you with Little Missy Louisa. You works hard at everythings you does. You needs rests to be bestest for you and your baby and your studyings. I can helps and I wants to helps. Don’t be sads when you gets helps. Is because you is loved by us that we helps you,” she finished, reaching up to pat the young witch lightly on the arm that was still wrapped tightly around her little girl. Twisting her thin lips into something that resembled an indulgent smile, she disappeared with a faint popping sound, leaving the two witches alone in the nursery.

Hermione was taken aback to hear the house-elf’s pronouncement. She didn’t doubt that the Malfoys had developed some affection for her. Living in such close proximity for nearly a year and a half would likely mean some level of feeling would have grown; she was immensely grateful and pleased that they’d all gone positive rather than toward the contempt that such familiarity could have bred. Still, to hear from the sweet creature that she was loved by the members of the household was positively overwhelming. That, added to all the other emotions swirling in her heart, prompted an onslaught of tears.

Louisa patted her mother’s face with chubby hands, seeing and sensing her turmoil. Her cool grey eyes narrowed with concern and Hermione huffed a deep breath to wrest control back of her wayward emotions.

“It’s okay, baby. Mummy’s just feeling a little overwrought today. Everything’s going to be fine,” she said through her tears, silently adding “I hope” to the declaration.

She sat in the rocking chair, her little one hugged tight to her chest, for long minutes after.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Narcissa sipped a cup of Darjeeling tea and nibbled on a blueberry scone while Lucius recounted his latest conversation with their son. The two men had spoken earlier in the day and only now had her husband had time to share the latest news from Salem.

“He didn’t give me much detail, but it’s apparent that he’s had a couple of major breakthroughs recently in his therapy. He was most pleased about the fact that he’s made progress, but I couldn’t help but feel that there was an undercurrent there – something that he’s still troubled over.”

“No clues at all about the nature of this breakthrough?” Narcissa pressed.

“None that he said, but I’ve come to learn that when he fails to give me specifics, it’s likely related to Hermione or… the other thing,” he hedged.

“Oh for Merlin’s sake, Lucius, don’t be ridiculous. I’m not _that_ delicate; I won’t be offended if you say that it’s about his sex therapy. Mind you, I wouldn’t ever want details of any sort, but I recognize that’s an important part of his treatment need.” She set her tea cup in its saucer and placed them on the side table. “That said, I can’t help but think that if families were a little more open and honest about sex that he wouldn’t have some of the problems that he does today.”

“We both know that the bulk of his problems stem from Bella’s interference in his late teen years. Even if I had been more… communicative about sex with him, he was flat-out potioned for five years. He probably wouldn’t have remembered or truly understood anything I told him,” Lucius argued.

“But if we’d been more insistent about knowing what was going on in his life, we might have found out sooner what was happening with Bella and Rod and prevented some of the damage that was done,” she retorted, her old anger from her husband’s long association with the Dark Side resurfacing. “I refuse to believe that if you – we – had truly known all the things he was getting up to, that we’d have ignored it.”

“Narcissa, I refuse to allow either of us to wallow in any more guilt over this, either. I fully accepted my part of the blame for what happened during that first year that Bella got her hooks into him, but what’s done is done. The situation then was positively horrible and I couldn’t see a way out of it. Once I came to my senses – admittedly, with your persistent persuasion - we both did everything we could for nearly four years to find ways out of our predicament. And while I wish we’d been successful far sooner, there were some incredibly daunting challenges that we had to overcome. It’s over, and has been for nearly a year and a half. He’s healing, slowly but surely. Your boy may not be back fully yet, but he will be,” Lucius promised. “Have faith in him; he’s earned it.”

“I do! Of course I do. It just… frustrates and pains me that we can’t be nearer, to help him through his rough spots,” she bemoaned.

“Cissy, I talk with him at least five times a week and you do at least that often. We visit every six or eight weeks. Considering the circumstances, that’s not infrequent contact. He knows very well that he can use the Floo to call any time he needs us. He’s not been shy about reaching out.”

She sighed dramatically. “I know. Draco has been very diligent about keeping his Floo open to us and calling when he needs to. I just… I wish I…” She trailed off, unable to articulate what was bubbling in her heart.

Lucius wasn’t sure how to ease his wife’s concerns other than to give her more information about their son’s latest progress, so he offered what little additional detail he knew. “Draco did say that he felt much more at peace with his feelings after his latest sessions, so whatever conclusions he’s come to have yielded a positive result rather than some of the turmoil he experienced with other issues.”

“I wish he’d been a bit more forthcoming so that we understood what was happening to him,” she complained.

“I’m sure you do, Cissy, as do I. But we have to remember that he is a young man now and he is deliberately trying to claim his own life. I can’t fault him for that.”

“Except for the not-so-little manipulations we’ve perpetrated. As much as I think it’s the right thing to do in the long run, I can’t help but be concerned that he’ll resent our interference.”

“And I don’t completely disagree with you on that bit, but I feel quite content that the outcome is something that he will want more than anything else on the earth or in the heavens. He may not tell me much in the way of details, but I’ve learned to read between the lines, and I am thoroughly confident that I’ve read his feelings and desires on this accurately.”

“Which tells me that you’ve still hidden things from me, Lucius.”

“Only in the things that he’s either told me under vows or what I’ve interpreted and extrapolated as a result of that information. Please, Narcissa, allow a man and his son their confidences and bonds,” he pleaded. “It’s important, to both of us.”

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By the time Draco made it home at the end of his shift, he’d sworn that the day had had thirty hours already pass. He was exhausted, dirty, and distracted. Having managed to refocus sufficiently to get through the rest of the evening, he was now anxious to let the stresses of the day go so that he could focus on the stresses of his life. Like his pending assignment.

At least hunger wasn’t a problem. He’d managed to snag a decent bite to eat in the kitchen during a lull in patron traffic; Draco had developed a taste for the delicate baked white fish he’d learned was called “haddock” that was prepared nightly by the Head Chef. He smiled as he recalled the elder man telling him the simplest secret for preparing it to perfection. “It’s a simple dish with just a bit of lemon, dill, salt and pepper,” he’d said. “For God’s sake, please don’t ever overcook it! Take it out of the oven two minutes before you think it’s done.”

Draco had been spending more of his time in the kitchen lately, and was fascinated by how much technique and knowledge was required to prepare proper meals. He’d watched, asked questions, and even offered to help out with simple prep work in a pinch. It was… enjoyable, and surprisingly relaxing. He’d started to practice by making meals for himself at home on his days off, with increasing success. He’d told his father that the process of following a recipe was not unlike working with potions, and it filled that void in his life quite well. He’d been thinking about asking the restaurant’s owner to allow him a few shifts in the kitchen, to see if he might like the work enough to become a line cook or sous chef someday.

Now, however, the only thing he wanted was a hot shower and some comfortable clothes. The temperatures had started to moderate from the still-chilly early spring range and it wasn’t unusual now to see a day warm enough to go without a jacket or jumper. Draco pulled a well-worn pair of blue jeans, cotton socks and a pair of boxers from his dresser, and a light green oxford shirt from his closet before heading to the bathroom.

Lights flickered on as he crossed the threshold, setting his clean clothing on the counter-top that he passed on the way to the tub. He reached in and turned on the tap for hot water, pausing for a moment as he considered whether a shower or bath would be in order. If he showered, he could get cleaned up more quickly and settle in with a cup of tea and the book he was so close to finishing. Yes, a shower it would be, he decided. Stripping off his food-stained white shirt and black work pants took seconds and undergarments followed them into the basket that held his dirty laundry. He’d have to wash clothes tomorrow, he noted.

A quick check with his hand through the plastic curtain confirmed that the water was sufficiently hot and he stepped in, dipping his head under the spray to wet his hair. He blindly reached for the shampoo bottle he knew rested on the wall shelf to his right and poured a dollop into his hand once he managed to get the flip-open top to cooperate. He scrubbed away the day’s grime, suds flying and trailing down his neck and chest as he vigorously massaged his scalp. Another dip of his head into the spray rinsed the shampoo away and he grabbed the bar of soap from its tray, working up lather between his hands and scrubbing them over his body from neck to feet. He turned slowly, allowing the hot water to rinse away the soap and dirt and paused for a moment to allow the soothing spray to pulse on his tired shoulders and back. Only long Quidditch games had been a better workout than carrying around heavy food trays all day. 

Finally feeling sufficiently clean, Draco stepped out of the tub and reached for a towel, drying his hair quickly and then wrapping the large rectangle of terrycloth around his hips. He wasn’t planning to go anywhere tonight, so he’d fore-go shaving the little bit of stubble that had grown since early morning, but a thorough tooth-brushing was absolutely necessary. Teeth, gums, tongue, rinse, spit. Ahhh. He inspected the results in the mirror and pronounced himself satisfied with the shiny, fresh, finished product. He dragged a comb through his soft, fine hair and released the knot from his towel, reaching down to wipe away the few water droplets that clung to the sparse hair on his legs.

Five minutes later, he was fully dressed, choosing to walk around in his stocking feet rather than add shoes for an evening that he hoped would be primarily devoted to reading and relaxation. It was too early and he was still too tense to consider… other things.

He ventured to the kitchen and put a kettle on to heat water for tea. While he waited for the liquid to come to a boil, he rummaged in the kitchen for a little snack. He wasn’t terribly hungry, but it had been a couple of hours since his meal at the Grapevine, so he wanted something to nibble on. His inventory revealed a tin of chocolate biscuits, a half a bag of crisps, two bananas, a green apple, and an unopened bag of a horribly guilty pleasure he’d discovered in a Muggle grocery – Cheez Doodles. Yummy, but not what he wanted tonight. He grabbed one of the bananas and three chocolate biscuits from the tin, placing the peeled fruit and sweet treats on a small plate.

A short moment later, the kettle began to whistle, informing Draco that the water was ready to add to his mug. Earl Grey tea waited in an infuser ball and the aroma of the slightly sharp brew wafted up as the boiling water filled the crockery cup. Four minutes for steeping and a single splash of milk made the brew just perfect.

Draco placed his mug and plate on the table beside the easy chair beside the fireplace and lifted his book from the spot where he had left it the night before. He settled in to the comfortable seat and propped his feet up on the needlepoint footstool, crossing his legs at the ankles. A few sips of tea, a couple of nibbles of biscuit, a bite or two of banana and forty minutes later, Draco felt his eyes begin to get heavy with fatigue. Rather than fight it, he decided to give in to the inevitable and pushed out of the chair to head to his bedroom, leaving the book and dishes behind in the sitting room.

He made a quick trip to the loo and finally into the bedroom, removing his shirt, jeans and socks and leaving them on the chest at the foot of the bed. He’d only worn them for an hour, at most, so they’d be fine for the next morning. Climbing into the bed, he rested his head and shoulders on two fluffed pillows. He closed his eyes and waited for slumber to come. And waited. And waited. And waited. An hour later, his eyes snapped open as he realized that his fatigue was not quickly translating to sleep.

As is the common consequence for one unable to find rest, Draco’s thoughts began to wander to the events of the day and the concerns that occupied his brain. When he finally admitted to himself that he was both avoiding and anticipating the one thing he really did need to think about, it was impossible to think of anything else. He mentally reviewed the assignment he’d been given, with its rapidly approaching deadline: purposely create a sexual fantasy that produced a full erection; taking it to completion was optional. He knew that his therapist would be satisfied with his progress if he achieved the former, thrilled if he managed the latter.

Determined to not allow himself to feel guilt or shame over what he was about to do, Draco settled more deeply into his pillows and closed his eyes, this time to conjure appropriate imagery. His dreams were always filled with Hermione, and his memory was able to furnish a remarkably accurate picture of her naked form. He had long since edited out the bruises and cuts that had marred her skin when he’d last seen her in the flesh; to do anything less would have rendered him permanently a eunuch.

In his mind, Draco began with a glimpse of her silhouette - the one that had caused him such unease and pleasure so many months earlier. He felt a grin creeping to his face as he imagined her firm, full breasts, a narrow waist, rounded hips, creamy-white thighs and all those riotous curls. He pictured soap and water sluicing over her body, through her hands as they traveled over her silky skin. Draco’s imagination conjured a soft, secret smile as her fingers toyed with dark rosy nipples and her head tipped back with the pleasurable sensation. That was enough for his own body to feel a firm twitch of arousal as his penis seemed to move of its own accord.

When he pictured those small, feminine hands trailing down her ribcage to her hips, then toward the junction of her thighs, he felt his own body respond with a strong rush of blood; seconds later, it was clear that he was fully erect without having consciously touched his organ. His awareness returned from imagination just enough to note that his right hand had made its way inside his boxers and he had, in fact, been stroking his testicles lightly. He realized that they were now growing tighter and his hand drifted upward slightly to feather along his swollen erection. Images returned as he fantasized about the personal moment he’d created for his desired lover. Faux Hermione’s legs parted ever so slightly as water glistened, her knees bending and fingers probing through other dark curls. He swore he could hear her intake of breath as delicate digits found an even more delicate bud. Maybe that was his own sound, as his hand tightened over his penis and stroked firmly upward, squeezing the head slightly. Her fingers swirled and rubbed, gaining in speed and intensity along with the movement of his own hand, pressure building in his stomach and groin as he saw her head lolling and cheeks flushing with the pleasure of her own touch. He stopped for the two seconds it took to remove his boxers, freeing his organ for greater access and unrestricted motion. His knees lifted and parted as hers buckled slightly when her fingers found her center and plunged deep inside. His left hand joined his right in building pleasure by gently fondling his sac while his palm stroked in time with imaginary Hermione’s thrusts. Her movements became faster, slightly more aggressive as his own grip tightened and he felt his hips lift off the mattress with the urge to push into the soft center he envisioned. His breathing was coming in labored pants as his heart beat faster. Stroke for stroke, pull for pull, he kept time with her imagined actions until the pressure was too much to resist. He felt hot, thick spurts of semen hit his chest as orgasm overtook him, just as she crumbled to her knees from her own waves of pleasure.

Somewhere along the way, he must have kicked off the sheets and blankets that had covered him. He noted absently that could feel the ejaculate cooling on his chest. He felt sated, relaxed, and tired. He’d achieved his mission, fulfilled his assignment. Drawing up the covers and turning on his side, he sighed deeply in his contentment. He’d had a few minutes to imagine that the name she’d called when she came was his own.


	15. Optimism

Draco’s undeniably pleasant dream was abruptly interrupted by something, or someone, patting his cheek. The hand was small and vaguely sticky and the voice that echoed in his ear less than a second later confirmed his easy guess.

“Papa Drake! Wake up!”

He pried open one eye and rolled to his side to disguise the rather obvious tent in his blanket. While the child wouldn’t be offended or really have any clue what she was seeing, it was likely that someone else might be in the room; Louisa wasn’t tall enough to have opened the door or climbed onto the bed by herself. The natural reaction needn’t attract undue attention. “Good morning, Louisa,” he croaked with a sleep-deepened voice.

“Oh, Draco! I’m so sorry!” he heard Hermione say. “She got away from me while I was finishing getting dressed.”

He curled his knees up, stretching his lower back in the process, noting that the bed he’d once thought was incredibly comfortable was now too soft for his liking. He yawned and smiled sleepily. “No problem. I’m sure it’s time to get up. How did she get in, though? She’s not big enough to climb up here,” he wondered, concluding that his earlier assumption was apparently wrong.

“Oh, that was me, dear!” The pronouncement from his mother broke his and Hermione’s silent confusion. Narcissa emerged from Draco’s bathroom carrying an armful of fresh bed linens and towels. “I thought you might need fresh linens,” she stated, tipping her head to indicate the stack she held. “It’s Tuppy’s morning off, so I thought I’d gather them for you.”

“Thank you, Mother, but I’m sure I would have been able to find them. I have lived on my own for three years, you know,” he teased.

“I’m quite sure you are more than capable, but it’s been a long time since I was able to do something for you. Indulge me, for once,” she retorted.

Knowing when he was defeated, Draco acquiesced. “Yes, Mother. Thank you, Mother,” he replied with a wry smile. He noted that Hermione was hiding one of her own behind her hand and looked at her pointedly, communicating silently that he recognized that they had both been steamrolled once or twice by Narcissa Malfoy.

Hermione shrugged in silent, vaguely amused acknowledgment. She stretched out her hand to beckon her daughter so that Draco could get himself organized for the day, but Louisa would have none of it.

“No, Mummy. Cuddle time with Papa Drake!” she announced, scooting closer to her father.

Hermione looked to Draco for his agreement or refusal and found decidedly mixed emotions crossing the man’s face. This was a decision she needed to make. “Louisa, Papa needs to get dressed and ready for the day, and I have to get ready for work, so cuddle time will have to wait a little bit.”

Her tone brooked no nonsense and Louisa recognized it as a moment she’d not get her way. She surprised everyone by plopping a sloppy kiss on the tip of Draco’s nose and crawling back to the edge of the bed to slide down over the side on her own, categorically refusing the help offered by any of the three adults in the room. “Okay. Papa Drake, cuddle time is later,” she stated solemnly, looking into the grey eyes that were so like her own.

In an equally serious tone, Draco replied, “Of course it is, Louisa. Once I get a shower and put some clothes on, we can spend some time together. I’ll take you for a walk in the gardens and we can read a book. Is that okay?”

Blonde curls bobbed up and down in agreement. “Yes, Papa Drake,” she allowed, taking her mother’s hand as they left Draco and his mother behind.

When only mother and son were left in the room, Narcissa perched on the side of the bed, prompting Draco to sit up with his back against the headboard, the coverlet and sheets dropping away from his bare chest and pooling in his lap. Narcissa eyed the expanse of flesh and lifted an eyebrow. “You might want to think about sleeping in something more than your birthday suit, dear. Your daughter may not be above tugging your blankets away,” she remarked.

“Mother, it’s only a bare chest. You see no different at a beach or pool. I am wearing boxers. And I won’t be here more than a few days, anyway,” he reminded her.

“Well, still,” she answered, but offered no further complaint.

Since she hadn’t moved, Draco assumed she had another purpose in visiting him so early in the morning beyond scolding him for his lack of proper nightwear. He decided to speed things along. “What are you really doing here, Mother?” He crossed his arms over his chest, hoping that he appeared more confrontational than defensive with the move.

“Oh, nothing. Just wondering what you had planned for the day,” she stated, trying to keep any hint of manipulation or agenda out of her voice.

“Once I visit the loo and take a shower,” he hinted, not terribly subtly, “I plan to get dressed and spend a little time with my daughter. Later this afternoon, I have a number of Floo calls to make with regard to her status and inheritance. I had also hoped to visit the townhouse and see what needs to be done to get it ready for occupancy. Why do you ask?” He successfully kept frustration out of his reply but it was impossible to hold back his suspicion. His mother, after all, was at least as sneaky and scheming as his father.

“That’s a very sound plan. I was thinking, though,” she began, as Draco thought, Here it comes…, “That you might want to wait until Hermione is back from work to go to the townhouse.”

Draco wanted to protest, just on principle, but could find no fault in his mother’s suggestion. It would give them time alone, and there were perfectly valid reasons for their visit. After all, he had no idea what would need to be done to prepare a home-away-from-home for their daughter.

“Good idea, Mother. Wish I’d thought of it myself,” he replied. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, my bladder is about to burst and I need a shower if I’m to get everything I’ve planned accomplished today.” He moved to lift the blankets covering his lap and that was more than enough for his mother to conclude that she had, in fact, been dismissed.

Since her goal had been achieved, with much less effort than she’d feared would be required, she took no offense and simply smiled at her son. “Of course, dear. Have a lovely morning!” she chirped, heading for his bedroom door. She paused, her hand resting lightly on the doorknob and turned back to face her son. “Louisa seems to have taken to you very quickly,” she observed quietly, finally opening the door and exiting his bedroom, closing the door firmly behind her.

“Yes, Mother, it seems she has,” he softly replied to the empty room. Left unspoken but not unacknowledged was his thought that he had become smitten rather quickly, too.

Draco absorbed her observation for a moment, thinking that it was a happy, if unexpected, development, then shook his head and huffed a sound of blended amusement at her pronouncement and annoyance at the time it had taken to finally get everyone out of his room. Now, he did toss off the covers and dash to the loo, relieving the strain of the long wait while he entertained his unexpected early-morning visitors. The only family member who hadn’t shown up was his father. The young man stripped off his boxers and turned on the taps in the grey-veined marble shower stall, waiting a moment for the water to reach the optimum temperature. As he stepped in under the spray, he heard the door to his bedchamber open and his father’s voice call out for him. _That makes the gathering complete_ , he thought.

“In the shower, Father,” he replied. “Give me ten minutes, please?”

“No need, Draco, I’ll just be a minute,” he announced as he entered the steamy bathroom.

“Can’t a bloke have a little privacy around here?” Draco muttered under his breath. He sighed deeply. “What can I do for you, then?”

“Your mother tells me that you are planning to spend the afternoon with Miss Granger when she comes home from work. Do you have a particular plan in mind, Son?” he inquired.

The younger wizard wondered when in Merlin’s name she’d had the opportunity to pass that information along; the decision had been made less than two minutes earlier. His father had probably been waiting in the hall, conspiring to pounce if Narcissa had been unsuccessful in nudging his actions in the desired direction. “Father, there is no grand plan, and we’re not ‘spending the afternoon’ together for any purpose other than to see the townhouse,” Draco explained while he shampooed his hair. “I’m hoping that she’ll help me select a room and appropriate furnishings for when Louisa comes to visit.”

“Ah, lovely. May I assume that you’ll also arrange a room for Miss Granger to use when the three of you are there together?” Lucius prodded.

Draco, grateful that his father couldn’t see him inside the shower enclosure, shook his head and rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “Yes, Father,” he noted impatiently, “I plan to ensure that she has an appropriate space there, too, although I can’t see too many occasions when she’s likely to use it.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that, Draco,” he admonished. “I’m quite sure she’ll want to be near when Louisa is visiting you.”

The thought gave Draco reason to pause, his fingers stilled and buried deep in his sudsy scalp. “Why do you say that?”

“Oh, I don’t think she has any concerns about the two of you spending time alone together. I’m sure she trusts absolutely that you wouldn’t be unwatchful of Louisa. It’s just that they are rarely apart and Hermione is very protective of your daughter. She’ll want to ensure that Louisa is comfortable with you.”

Draco felt a bit of relief; he wouldn’t have been entirely shocked to hear that Hermione had trepidations about leaving the child with him. “Well, first, remember that I’m not planning to stay terribly long in the townhouse; it’s a temporary measure until I find a home of my own. Second, since it will likely be Hermione’s home at some point, it would only be right to have her input in its furnishing and decoration. And third, I hope that by the time I leave here at the weekend, Louisa and I will have developed enough familiarity that she’ll have no hesitation about spending time with me, regardless of Hermione’s presence. In fact, Mother was just commenting on how well Louisa seems to have adjusted to my presence already. Does that satisfy all of your curiosity, Father, because I’d really like to finish my shower and get dressed, if it’s all the same to you?”

“Yes, of course, Draco,” Lucius replied, indulgently. “But if I might make one more suggestion…”

“What is it, Father?” Draco’s slight impatience was rapidly turning to irritation.

“If I recall correctly, there’s a lovely double suite on the second floor. You might give her the master and take the secondary suite for your own. They each have a private bath but are joined by a common sitting room. It would be an appropriate place for the two of you to have your… weekly meetings.”

Draco couldn’t deny that his father’s idea had merit, but he was chafing mightily at the man’s rather transparent attempts to “coach” his interactions with Hermione. “Fabulous idea, Father. Now, get out of here so I can get dressed!”

Lucius barely stifled his laughter as he retreated from the bathroom, his mission accomplished. “Have a lovely day, Draco!”

Draco suppressed a groan and finished his shower, stepping out and wrapping a towel around his hips before finishing his morning routine. A shave, teeth cleaning and hair combing were complete in ten minutes and he exited the bathroom to get dressed. He stopped abruptly as he reentered the bedroom, wondering what, exactly, he could wear. As far as he knew, all of his clothes were still packed. He hoped that his mother might have butted into his business just this once; he didn’t relish the idea of calling for a house-elf for assistance to find clothing. A quick check of his walk-in closet showed that some of the clothing he’d left behind three years earlier was still hanging on the bars that lined the circumference of the small room. Sadly, few of these items would still fit. He’d not really grown in height in the time he was away, but he had filled out some, especially in his chest and arms. He reached for some undergarments and a pair of black pants that were of a fairly classic cut. Most of his shirts simply wouldn’t fit, so he grabbed a pale blue cashmere jumper from a shelf and pulled that on over his head. It was a little snug, but not uncomfortably so. It would have to do until he was able to buy a few new things. Maybe he’d find some time to do that later in the day.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Draco tugged on black socks and laced up a pair of black leather oxfords. It seemed that the house-elves had probably been cleaning in his room during his absence; there was no dust on the footwear and the leather shone as though it had just been polished.

He rose to go to his desk where he retrieved the list of actions he’d prepared the night before. He glanced through it quickly and noted that he really did have a lot to accomplish today, and that didn’t include the idea he’d had while talking with David the previous night. That project alone would take weeks to pull together. He folded the parchment and tucked it into his pocket. First, though, was breakfast. While he’d been able to enjoy reasonably good tea in Salem thanks to the care packages his parents delivered, it never tasted quite the same as his memory supplied. He’d developed a bit of a palate for coffee – it was hard to avoid in the States – but a fabulous cup of tea would always be his first choice. He had also missed the delicate, freshly baked scones that were always available at the Manor. He practically ran down the stairs in his haste to have an old favorite treat.

As he entered the family dining room, it was clear that the morning meal had been underway for quite some time. Hermione was finishing her tea and toast, Louisa was nearly done with her fruit and porridge, and his parents had nothing more than crumbs in their plates. It looked as though he might be dining alone. Though that had been a daily occurrence in Salem, he had been looking forward to sharing breakfast with his family today. The disappointment must have been evident in his expression, as his father glanced to him and then made the extraordinary move of taking another lemon-raspberry scone from the platter in the center of the table.

“Good morning again, Draco,” Hermione greeted him first. “I need to dash off to work, but I’m sure we’ll speak later.”

“Good morning to you, too,” he replied. “Actually, I’m glad to have caught up with you before you leave. I wonder if you might be available after work to accompany me to the townhouse. I want your help in selecting a room and furnishings for Louisa, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

She seemed a bit surprised that he would want to move so quickly to set up his new home, and hesitated a moment before agreeing. “Uh, yes, I think I could do that. Shall we meet here and go together? I assume you know the location and I’ve never been there.”

“That would be fine. I have things I need to attend to, but I expect that I’ll be done around five o’clock,” Draco noted.

“Perfect. I usually get home about half five, so that will give you a little leeway,” she offered. “Should we bring Louisa?”

Draco hesitated, glancing briefly at his father who made a barely perceptible shake of his head, indicating that a private meeting would be more desirable. “I think this first visit would be better just the two of us. I don’t know the current condition of things and I’d hate to have her be disappointed.”

“Fine,” she agreed. “I’ll see you this afternoon.” She rose from her chair, dropped a kiss on Louisa’s head, telling the toddler to behave for her grandparents, and left the room with a wave and goodbye.

Draco, who’d taken a seat beside Louisa’s booster chair, reached for a blueberry scone and a dish of clotted cream. Tuppy was by his side in seconds, pouring his favorite Earl Grey tea. He thanked the house-elf, causing his father to twitch his lips, and turned to face his daughter. “Would it be all right with you to spend a little time this morning with Papa?” he asked.

The toddler had obviously been taught a little about manners, because she didn’t answer aloud, chewing happily on a piece of melon. She indicated her agreement with an enthusiastic bobbing of her head.

Draco smiled broadly. “I’m so glad. It’s a nice day, so maybe we can take a walk outside. Papa will read you a story later, too, if you like. I know you wanted one last night, but you were already asleep when Mummy and I came back to your room.”

Narcissa watched the exchange, apparently amused by something.

“What?” Draco prompted.

“Do you always refer to yourself in the third person?” she teased.

“Uh, not really. I guess I… sort of like the idea of being ‘Papa,’” he admitted with a hint of pink coloring his cheeks and a bit of a grin on his lips.

“I imagine that will take a little getting used to,” his father interjected.

“A bit,” he admitted. “But now that I’m over the initial shock, I’m anxious to build a relationship with her.”

“Are you?” his mother wondered. “Over the initial shock, I mean.”

“That’s a fair question. I think, with everything I’ve been through in the last eight years, I’ve learned to be more adaptable and accepting. It would be foolish to say that I’ve totally absorbed what all of this means to me, but I’m committed to creating what I want and need in my life. She’s part of that.”

“Which ‘she?’” Lucius goaded him.

“Fair enough, Father. Both of them. But you both need to recognize that I have no intention of ‘using’ one to boost my relationship with the other. If developing those relationships happens to have that end, fine. But I will not manipulate either of them. There’s been way too much of that going on and I won’t be a party to it.”

Narcissa had the good grace to appear mildly chagrined, while Lucius clearly thought his son had lost his marbles. “Well, I’d say that ‘manipulate’ is probably too strong a word, but to deny that the relationship between the three of you is completely interdependent is just ludicrous.”

“Of course it is! But I won’t screw with my daughter’s head nor with Hermione’s. Not purposely. It’s taken me three years to get to a point where I understand who I am and what I want out of life. Having a plan is not the same thing as having a scheme. I think I know what I need to do, and regardless of your enthusiasm to ‘help’ me, I need to do it my own way. I’ll listen to your insights, Father, but I won’t allow you to do something that will undermine any of the three of us.” Draco’s frustration was evident. His protectiveness was also very telling; he’d claimed Louisa and Hermione as his to guard from harm of any sort. The pride on his mother’s face couldn’t have been plainer.

“Of course, Draco. We’ll honor your wishes,” she said. When Lucius opened his mouth to add his two Knuts’ worth, she glared at him, staying his comments better than a Silencio ever could.

They finished the meal in silence, Lucius reading over the morning edition of the now-reestablished Daily Prophet and Narcissa sipping her tea. Not more than ten minutes had passed, but Draco was ready to be elsewhere – anywhere – and turned to Louisa once more, noting that her breakfast was finished. He took the damp cloth that Hermione had left near Louisa’s plate and gently cleaned the little girl’s face and hands.

“All clean, Papa Drake!” she confirmed. “Outside now?”

“That’s a fabulous idea, Louisa,” he agreed, lifting her out of her chair and hugging her close for a moment. She began squirming, so he took her cue and set her on the floor so she could walk on her own power, although he didn’t release her hand. He addressed his parents briefly. “We’ll be in the gardens for about an hour, then I assume she still has a morning nap?” His mother confirmed his guess with a nod. “Fine. I’ll read her a story when I put her down, then I have a number of calls to make and an errand or two to run. Don’t expect me for lunch.” With that, he guided the child out of the dining room and toward the rear of the wing where they would access the patio and garden entrance.

“That didn’t take long,” Lucius observed.

“What do you mean?”

“He’ll take no convincing at all. He’s already there.”

“No doubt.”

“She, however, will be a very different story, I fear,” the wizard opined.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco and his daughter had been wandering in the gardens for nearly an hour and a half, enjoying the unusually mild early spring weather. It had only taken twenty minutes, however, before the tot had been too tired to keep up with her father’s long strides. He, not accustomed to strolling with such a little one, was quickly chagrined at his thoughtlessness and had invited his daughter to ride on his shoulders. More than an hour later, she was still happily perched there, her hands alternating between hanging on to his ears, his hair, his neck and even his cheeks, despite his tight grip on her knees. Draco was amused and did not complain, even when her grasp was contributing to him losing his own blond locks even more quickly than nature was already dictating.

Their chatter was not deep or terribly emotional; she prattled on in her charming combination of English, French, and baby talk about flowers and butterflies and birds. Draco listened intently, absorbing everything he could about this girl who would now be central to his life. His own speaking was to answer her questions, ask some of his own, and point out things that had been special to him when he was a child. It was clear now that she was starting to get sleepy. She had rested her head on the crown of his and her responses were limited to hums and single words. Nap time had arrived.

Lifting her off his shoulders, Draco cradled Louisa against his chest and brought her back inside to her nursery. He settled her in bed and picked up the book she cradled in her arms the previous evening. He was unfamiliar with this one and concluded it was probably by a Muggle author. “Goodnight Moon?” he offered as she was obviously fighting to stay awake.

“Yes, Papa Drake,” she whispered.

Draco began to read from the book by Margaret Wise Brown …

“In the great green room, there is a telephone and a red balloon, and a picture of  
The cow jumping over the moon  
And there were three little bears sitting on chairs  
And two little kittens and a pair of mittens  
And a little toy house and a toy mouse  
And a comb and a brush and bowl full of mush  
And a quiet old lady who was whispering "hush."

Goodnight room  
Goodnight moon  
Goodnight cow jumping over the moon  
Goodnight light and the red balloon  
Goodnight bears, goodnight chairs  
Goodnight kittens and goodnight mittens  
Goodnight clocks and goodnight socks,” he said, glancing up at that point to find that she was fast asleep. He closed the book, kissed her forehead and left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

As much as he would have liked to spend the whole morning just watching her sleep, Draco had things to do. He pulled the folded parchment from his pocket and reviewed the items on his list. There really was a lot to get done. Since his own room didn’t have a Floo connection, he’d have to use the one in his father’s study for now, bringing to mind just one more reason to be out on his own. He’d rather not have to worry about his private business being co-opted or snooped upon by his parents, no matter how well-intentioned they believed they were. He knocked on the closed door and waited for his father to admit him.

When the door opened, he saw that his mother was seated in one of the leather armchairs beside the fireplace; they’d obviously been chatting in here for a while, if the empty tea cups were any indication. He’d have to gently kick both of them out.

“What can I do for you, Draco?” Lucius inquired.

“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, I’d like to use your Floo connection to make a number of calls,” he replied, hoping that would be a sufficient hint that he wanted some privacy.

“By all means,” his father offered, waving the young man into the study but not making a move to vacate the premises. Apparently, it was going to take more than an outrageously subtle hint.

“Father, I hate to be rude, but I really would like some privacy. Would you…?” he trailed off, hoping he wouldn’t have to actually make his request that blatant. It was, after all, his father’s private domain.

As thick as Lucius could be in some circumstances, it was obvious that his mother had already figured out what Draco needed and had risen from her chair, tea cup in hand. She was approaching them at a rapid clip now.

“Come, Lucius, I want to discuss some changes to the gardens and orchards with you. We need to go outside to do that,” she told him pointedly.

Draco was grateful enough to want to hug the woman, but figured that would just encourage her further. He settled for a brisk nod and a warm smile. “Thank you, Mother,” he whispered as she passed by.

She winked at him, tugging a reluctant Lucius along as she left the room and closed the door. It only took him another few seconds to unfold the piece of parchment and review what he’d written once again.

_**File paternity claim with Ministry** _

_**Compose press release for Hermione’s approval** _

_**Family solicitor – make Will providing for Louisa and Hermione, examine Father’s filings, ask about “association” and familial rights and/or obligations.** _

_**Effect of marriage or additional children** _

_**Move my things to townhouse** _

_**Refurbish room for Louisa and Hermione** _

_**Visit Gringotts for an account review** _

He decided that he needed to contact the family solicitor first, as what he learned from him would dictate many of his subsequent actions. He would need to start with calling Barrister Marcus Phillips, who had represented him at his trial and had remained his liaison throughout his exile, as a first step. The man was undoubtedly loyal to his father and was probably up to his neck in whatever Lucius and Narcissa had plotted, but he would certainly know exactly what had and hadn’t been done.

Grabbing a handful of Floo powder, Draco tossed it into the flames and waited the few seconds until the green flickering indicated an open communication line. “Barrister Marcus Phillips’ office,” Draco enunciated clearly.

A secretary answered, requesting the identity of the caller and purpose of the call.

“Draco Malfoy here, and I wish to speak with Barrister Phillips about some estate issues.”

“Hold, please,” the assistant responded.

Less than a minute passed before the solicitor’s face appeared in the Malfoys’ fireplace. “Draco! I take it you’ve arrived safely back in Wiltshire? How can I help you?”

“I wonder if I could have an appointment in the next few days to talk about some new developments in my estate needs. I’m sure you’re aware of the existence of my daughter,” he stated, trying to keep any accusatory tone out of his voice.

“Yes, Draco, I do know about Louisa. I’m very sorry that I wasn’t able to discuss it with you, but I was sworn by client privilege,” he explained, only slightly contrite in his expression. “But now that you know, I am free to discuss anything at all about her and your relationship to her. I’m not terribly busy right now. Why don’t you come through and we’ll talk about everything on your mind?” he invited.

Draco felt certain that they wouldn’t have time to discuss all the things he was dealing with, but they could absolutely get a good running start. “Fine. I’ll be through in just a moment,” he agreed.

Leaving a quickly scribbled note on his father’s desk, Draco stepped through the open Floo connection into the lobby of Phillips, Benjarvis, Green, and Ellis, Esquires and Solicitors at Law. He was greeted immediately and escorted to Mr. Phillips’ office, where the elder wizard gave him a hearty handshake and offered a seat.

“Thank you for seeing me with no notice. I know how busy you are,” Draco noted.

“It’s my pleasure,” he responded with a dismissive wave. “I’d guess you have many questions.”

“I do. I prepared a list of issues that need to be addressed,” he stated, pulling the parchment out of the pocket where he’d temporarily stashed it; it wouldn’t do to have the thing go up in flames accidentally.

“The first thing I want to know about is my paternity claim and rights. My father said that he had filed a claim on my behalf with the Ministry and had Louisa named as my rightful heir. What more do I need to do to ensure her rights and mine?”

“Technically, nothing. What your father did was sufficient in the eyes of the law to secure her rights to the Malfoy estate and to give you rights over making decisions for her while she’s still a minor child. You can, if you wish, file a supplementary claim that affirms his prior action. It will have no real legal effect other than to serve as your acknowledgement and agreement of her position and your mutual rights.”

“Would it become part of the public record?” Draco wondered.

“Yes, it would. There would be a supplementary notice published in the Daily Prophet and a notation made to the family estate file at the Ministry that you approve and support the decision. There would be one small additional change, come to think of it,” the solicitor noted with a pause.

“And that would be….” Draco prompted.

“It would change final financial responsibility for Louisa from the Malfoy estate to you personally.”

“Oh, that’s fine. I expected that to be the case.”

“It would have no effect on any currently existing gifts, trusts, bequests and properties that have been placed in her name. Those are established _in duro_ and cannot be removed, though they can be augmented.”

“What does 'in duro' mean?” Draco asked.

“Just legal jargon for something ‘durable’ and fundamentally permanent. It’s often done to protect the interests of minor children or people who cannot otherwise speak for themselves. In this case, your father asked for that provision so that no one and nothing could ever remove Louisa’s assets.”

“I have no argument with any of that, but I do want to file my own paternity claim as soon as possible. I want it part of the public record that I acknowledge and accept my daughter.”

“I’ll have the papers drawn up for your signature today.”

“Thank you.”

“What else do you need?” Phillips prodded.

“I want to draw up a will to provide for Louisa in the case of my death. I assume that I have the right to distribute any of my assets and properties as I see fit?” he asked for confirmation.

“Absolutely. The only things you cannot change are things that are held in trust for you, as you do not have control of them until you reach age thirty. Other than that, you may do as you wish.”

“Good. Then I want my entire estate to be given to Louisa upon my death, to be administered and executed by her mother, Hermione Granger, if I die before she reaches the age of majority,” he stated firmly.

“You understand that by naming Miss Granger as Administrator and Executrix, she has full and total control over your assets upon your death, whether or not Louisa is no longer a minor child. It would be up to her to decide what Louisa gets and when, unless your will specifies something different,” he counseled.

“I understand. That’s fine; I trust Hermione to do what’s right for Louisa.”

The solicitor paused for a moment, apparently weighing how to bring up a sensitive topic. “Since you seem to have no issue with Miss Granger controlling your estate proceeds, is it your intention to provide for her as well?”

“Well, I had a few questions about that, actually. I know my father has set up a trust fund for her and given her some property, but I don’t know the extent of those holdings. Also, since we aren’t married, I wasn’t sure if there was a problem with me naming her as an heir in my bequests. There’s another matter related to that which I don’t understand, and I need your guidance.”

Draco noted that the man’s expression became blank. It was as he suspected; there was something more to the story. He heard Phillips’ reply, “I’ll tell you what I can.” _So_ , he thought, _he’s under an Unbreakable Vow. I’ll need to be very specific and deliberate in the questions I ask._

“My father mentioned something about an ‘association’ between myself and Hermione. Does that mean we are legally bound?”

“No.”

“Does it mean that we are married?”

“No.”

“Does it mean that she is my legal responsibility?”

“Not technically.”

“In what way is she legally tied to me?”

“I couldn’t say.”

“Do you not know, or are you unable to tell me?”

“No.”

An ambiguous answer, Draco thought, to my ambiguous question. “If I guess what it means, can you tell me if I’m correct?”

“No.”

“Am I correct in assuming that only my father can do that?”

“Yes.”

“But it does mean something.”

“Yes.”

Draco sighed deeply. He’d hoped that the man could clear up that mystery for him but his father had seen to it that it would not be simple.

Since Draco’s frustration was plain, the elder man seemed to take pity on him. “There are a couple of things I can tell you if I know some additional things from you. Would you answer a few questions if it will mean that I can provide… guidance?”

“Absolutely. What do you need to know?” Draco eagerly offered.

“What is your intention or wish with regard to your relationship with Miss Granger?”

“That’s a pretty personal question, Mr. Phillips. If I tell you, are you bound by client privilege to me?”

“Yes, if you wish.”

“Will that create any conflict between agreements with my father and those with me?”

“Not necessarily, and I can… navigate them as needed,” he assured the young man.

“My wish is that we’d have a lasting relationship that would allow us to raise our daughter together.”

“Is that all?”

“No.”

“I see.”

“And?”

“You will not be displeased by anything your father has… set in motion.”

“Should I take that to mean that whatever he’s done has loopholes, or is not yet final?”

“You could.”

“Should I also take it to mean that Miss Granger might not be quite as happy about it as I would?”

“Since I do not really know her, I couldn’t possibly answer that question with any insight or accuracy.”

“If whatever he’s ‘set in motion’ is fully executed, would it change my fundamental legal status in any way?”

“Yes.”

Draco’s thoughts were churning. He had a suspicion or two, but there was no way he’d get a final answer from his solicitor today. He doubted that consulting with anyone else would help; his father was well known for both covering his tracks and being inconceivably creative in his schemes and machinations. It might very well be a one-of-a-kind arrangement that would have no precedent in Wizarding law.

“In light of that, I have another question,” Draco began.

“Of course, ask away.”

“What would happen if Hermione married someone else?”

“It depends.”

“On what?”

“I… can’t say.”

“What would happen if I married someone else?”

“Again, it depends.”

Draco raised his hand in acknowledgement. “I know – you can’t say.” He huffed in annoyance. “How am I to continue with my life if all these things are left to interpretation?”

Phillips squared his shoulders and looked the younger man in the eye. “Draco, the best advice I can give you is to follow your heart. Do what you think is right for you, your daughter, and her mother. The rest will work itself out. Whatever your father has done, while it’s undoubtedly meddling, will not prevent you from making your own decisions and choices. You should, however, press him to reveal his actions to you; it’s only right and fair. I can’t say more than that, but know that once you are privy to what he’s done, there’s much more that I can do to help you.”

“And if I happen to be in agreement with what he’s done?”

“Then, we allow things to follow their natural course and there’s nothing to be concerned about.”

“What if I’m opposed to it?”

The man’s expression became less somber, and his eyes brightened. “Somehow, I don’t think that will be a problem, but if it is, there are things I can do to… change the outcome, should it be required.”

Draco’s frustration was real, but not unanticipated. He knew beyond a doubt that his father’s hand was in his business. It was now clear and undeniable that he’d done something that set up some kind of legal link between him and Hermione. There was also no question that the solicitor would not be able to reveal anything more until his father finally confessed whatever he’d done. Draco would either need to get his hands on whatever paperwork had been filed, using a Wizengamot order if necessary, or get the man to spill the beans on his own. The fact that the only people with knowledge of the deed kept assuring him that he’d not be displeased with the results was not in the least bit comforting. While they were seeking to make his life better with their meddling, they might very well be ruining any real chance that he had to build the life that he wanted, however well-meaning they may have been. Somehow, some way, he’d get to the bottom of this, soon.

In the meantime, Draco recognized that he was just wasting his own time and Mr. Phillips’. Their business was fundamentally concluded, at least for now. “Thank you, Sir, for everything you’ve shared with me today. I promise that I will be digging in to find what I need, but it’s clear that you’ve done all you can for now. If you would be so kind as to draw up the supplemental paternity claim for me, and a draft of my will, I’d like to get those signed and filed in the next couple of days.”

“I’d be happy to do that, Draco, but you’ve not answered one question that needs to be settled before I can do that for you.”

“Refresh my memory, if you would.”

“The issue of Miss Granger. How would you like her treated in your bequests?”

Draco paused and thought for about ten seconds before firmly meeting the elder man’s gaze. “Treat her as befitting the mother of the heir to the Malfoy fortune,” he replied with a sharp nod.

The young man rose, extended his hand in farewell, and exited the office, leaving the solicitor a little dumbfounded and feeling a great deal more respect for his client than he’d had an hour earlier.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco’s next destination, Gringotts, was a significantly more straightforward venture. Upon entry, he’d presented the key to his personal vault and requested the services of a private banker to review his accounts. It had taken nearly two hours, but he had a very clear picture of his finances. He, upon his release, had been allowed access to the inheritance from his grandparents and the two trust funds that had been available to him throughout his life. Another three accounts would be available when he reached age thirty or married, whichever came first.

He’d never have to work a day in his life, if he so chose, but the young man he’d become felt the need and desire to do something productive. The myriad lessons he’d learned in Salem would not go to waste. The discussion with his banker had included a sketch of the idea he’d had during his late-night discussion with David Roy. While the goblin couldn’t quite comprehend the idea of what “not-for-profit” really meant, he couldn’t deny that the wizard’s plan was well-outlined and would likely achieve the goals he’d enumerated.

He left the bank feeling that he’d made some progress, and glanced at his antique pocket watch to find the time was approaching five o’clock. If he wanted to meet Hermione as they’d agreed, he’d need to head back to the Manor now. He made his way to the Apparition Point at the end of the block, whistling tunelessly, and disappeared with a barely-heard pop.


	16. Perceptions

At half three in the afternoon, Lucius was reviewing the day’s business receipts from Asia when he heard the chime announcing a call over the Floo network. He was mildly surprised to see the distorted face of Harry Potter requesting a moment of his time. The elder wizard invited the young Auror-in-training to step through for a face-to-face conversation.

“Mister Potter, what can I do for you today?” he asked mildly.

“Thank you for seeing me without notice, Mister Malfoy. I’m a little concerned about something and I wanted to gain your perspective, and possibly your aid.”

“If I’m able, you shall have it,” Lucius graciously offered, gesturing toward an armchair for Harry's comfort.

“It’s about Hermione. None of us have heard from her in several weeks and we’re worried about her. I know she’s busy and… preoccupied, but it’s not like her to ignore her friends.”

Lucius’ initial thought was to dismiss Potter’s concern as so much rubbish, but the worried frown and the fact that the young man had actually reached out to him for help gave him pause. He thought for a moment – had he noticed any change in the young lady’s behavior of late? While he was not one to examine daily interaction at that minute level, he couldn’t deny that more than eight weeks without contact to her closest friends was… out of character.

“I’ve not noticed anything particularly troubling, Mister Potter, but there’s no doubt that you’ve known her far longer and better than I. I know she has been singularly focused on her studies, apart from the time she spends with Louisa. Perhaps that is the reason for her lack of contact,” he surmised, reasonably.

Harry shook his head. “No, Mister Malfoy, it’s more than that. We all recognize how busy she is and how challenging it must be to be raising Louisa alone,” Harry began, failing to notice the vaguely affronted moue crossing the other man’s face at his comment, “but it’s not like her to ignore our owls and Floo messages. She’s… withdrawn and insular. That’s not the girl I know.”

Lucius countered with some observations of his own. “I find her to be a serious and studious young woman, and extraordinarily committed to excelling in her chosen endeavor. Surely that is not unlike the Hermione you knew at Hogwarts. My wife and I have been intimately involved with Louisa’s care since her birth seven months ago, thus relieving Hermione of some of that burden, but her studies are uncommonly demanding.”

Harry flushed at the thinly veiled rebuke but persisted in expressing his concern. “Possibly Lady Malfoy has noted something in Hermione’s demeanor; it’s not unimaginable that Hermione might confide more in another woman than allow you to see her upset.”

“I’ll grant you that Hermione and Narcissa are closer, and another woman may have the… sensitivity to recognize something we gentlemen might miss. Would you like to speak with my wife, Mister Potter?” Lucius finally offered.

“If it would not be too much trouble, I would very much like to do that.”

With a nod, Lucius acknowledged and accepted Harry’s request. “Tuppy!” he bellowed, waiting the two split seconds until the little house-elf appeared at his feet. “Please find Mistress Cissy and ask her to join us here.”

Lucius offered the younger wizard a beverage while they waited, but Harry declined. They spoke distractedly about the unusually cool weather and the recently announced location of the next Quidditch World Cup, this time to be hosted in Bulgaria. Harry noted with no small amount of sarcasm that it would mean lots of extra attention for Viktor Krum. Both men, regardless of the relatively cordial relationship that had developed between them, were grateful when Narcissa appeared in the open doorway.

The impeccable manners of both wizards manifested simultaneously as they rose in unison to greet the elder man's wife. “Cissy, Mr. Potter would like a moment of your time to talk about Miss Granger,” Lucius informed her.

She extended her hand in greeting and Harry bent his head to kiss the woman's knuckles, in keeping with the old ways. He knew such formalities mattered to the Malfoys and she appreciated his show of respect.

“So nice to see you again, Mr. Potter. Won't you have a seat?” she offered, perching on the edge of one of the great leather armchairs that faced the hearth, her back straight and legs crossed primly at the ankles. “What may I do for you today?” she inquired as both men made themselves comfortable in chairs opposite her.

“I have been a little worried about Hermione and I hoped that you might have some insight into what could be troubling her. We're in the middle of May, and none of our friends have heard from her since late March, despite sending her numerous owls and leaving messages over the Floo. It's just not like her,” he avowed.

Narcissa struggled to bite her tongue. It almost felt like Potter was accusing them of not properly caring for Hermione or looking out for her well-being. Her perfect posture stiffened further. “I speak with Hermione at least twice every day, Mr. Potter, and I can assure you that she is in good health and good spirits. You must realize that she's terribly busy with her studies, particularly as she's intent on completing a three-year program in half that time, and spends every spare moment either on her schooling or tending to Louisa. I'm sure that her lack of contact with you and your friends is simply incidental to her very full schedule.” While she didn't want to alienate the young man, Narcissa would not allow him to besmirch their care of the young woman.

“I'm certainly aware of her many commitments and responsibilities, ma'am. I'm quite sure you and your husband are doing everything you can to make her comfortable and to ensure that she has what she needs. But I've known Hermione since we were eleven years old and she's always been ridiculously busy and over-scheduled. What she's never done before is ignore her friends, regardless of how many hours she works. That's why I'm worried.”

“Did you stop to think, Mr. Potter, that Hermione’s circle of acquaintances has changed somewhat in the last few months? She now has a daughter, and Lucius and I spend a great deal of time with both of them. Her priorities have shifted, and she has a new... family that cares for her and her daily needs. I held her hand when she gave birth, and I have come to think of her as my own daughter. I eat breakfast with her every day and dinner with her at least five times a week, and we love Hermione as much as you do. Believe me when I tell you that I would know if something was bothering her.” When Narcissa leaned back ever so slightly, she seemed to realize how passionately she'd spoken and flushed in embarrassment at the revealing nature of her pronouncement.

Lucius said nothing, but watched intently as Harry's jaw dropped at the conclusion of Narcissa's diatribe. She'd staked their claim on Hermione as one of their own; he was awaiting Potter's reaction with bated breath.

“I see,” the younger man responded quietly. “Are you telling me that Hermione is cutting her friends out of her life?”

Narcissa swallowed as she realized the impact of what she'd said. “I'm sorry if I intimated that, Mr. Potter. It wasn't my intention and I don't believe that's the case. I just think that Hermione has found other priorities for now, and when things begin to stabilize, you'll probably hear from her more frequently. In the meantime, you should know that we are doing our best to ensure that she and Louisa are happy and content. She will reconnect with you when she's ready.”

While she hadn't really meant her words to sound like a dismissal, Harry had apparently heard them as such, and he rose from his seat looking for all the world as though he were a child whose favorite toy had been taken from him. “I understand. If you'd be so kind as to tell Hermione that we – her friends – were asking after her, I'd be most grateful. Thank you for your time,” he said, walking forlornly to the Floo.

After Harry had disappeared into the roar of green flame, Lucius lifted an eyebrow at his wife in silent question.

“She needs to bond with us. We're her family now, and if they are constantly influencing her, she'll find it harder to stay connected to us,” Narcissa asserted.

Lucius sighed heavily. “I appreciate your desire to keep Hermione and Louisa close, love, but I fear you've made a tactical error in your strategy.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, sounding suddenly unsure.

“If Hermione feels we are trying to isolate her, she'll rebel and pull away from us. We want her to _want_ to be with us, not to feel manipulated or coerced into it.”

“But I was telling the truth! She's fine! You know how busy she is with studying; it's all she can do to finish her homework and spend a few minutes with Louisa before she falls into bed exhausted. I don't want her to have the additional pressures of having to entertain her friends.”

“So we take the pressure away and allow her the pleasure of her friends' company without the stress.”

“How do we do that without releasing control of the situation?” she asked sheepishly, although she felt the answer bubbling up already.

“Sometimes if you squeeze too tight, the bird struggles in your grip. A gentle hold is often much more effective,” he admonished. “Narcissa, please, are you a pureblood society witch or not? You hold a small gathering, invite all her friends, do all the work, and let her enjoy it. It will be a great way to demonstrate to her that we care about her beyond her role as Louisa's mother, and it will appease her friends' concerns so that we can... manage her social calendar more effectively.”

“I'm letting my possessiveness of them interfere with my better judgment, aren't I?” she asked.

“Yes, dearest, I fear you are. If we want her to be bonded and endeared to us, we need to ensure that we don't smother her. She must want to be part of our family of her own volition, or what we've planned will simply not work. There must be intent on her part for the magic to take hold,” he cautioned.

“And it won't matter that the bond doesn't specifically include...” she wondered again.

“No, it won't,” he replied with confidence and decisiveness.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco was dripping with sweat. It was an uncommonly warm day for late May, and brutally humid. He'd come to realize that living so close to the ocean had both its benefits and its consequences. The oppressively heavy air was definitely in the negative column. Working in a kitchen made the problem that much more pronounced. He wouldn't complain, however, since he'd finally been given an opportunity to try something that truly sparked his interest and curiosity.

Six weeks earlier, the Grapevine's owner had pulled him aside at the end of a long shift waiting tables and told him that it was time for a chat. Draco had been desperately nervous that he'd done something wrong until Bob Goutro had eased his concern with an easy smile and a hand on his shoulder....

_“Relax, kid, everything's fine,” he assured the young wizard. “I've been talking to a couple of the people in the kitchen and they tell me you've been hanging around asking a lot of questions. Tell me what's going on.” His calm and open manner relaxed Draco immediately._

_“Well, Bob, I guess it's just that I find the process of putting together a recipe rather interesting. It reminds me of the, uh, chemistry classes I used to enjoy in school.”_

_“So what do you want to do about that?” the elder man asked._

_“I'm not really sure, but I find it relaxing to prepare the ingredients and then watch the results when they're combined to create something so fundamentally different from the pieces unto themselves,” he explained. “I have to admit that I've been thinking about maybe learning more about cooking, possibly even becoming a sous chef someday.”_

_“Is that so?” Bob noted with a broad grin._

_“Uh, yeah,” Draco affirmed. “I've been making my own meals at home when I don't eat here, and I haven't had too many disasters.” Draco paused for a moment while Bob laughed aloud. “Since it's so much like po... uh, chemistry, with measuring ingredients and such, I understand many of the basic principles. I need to learn technique and how to combine components so that they actually taste good.”_

_Bob stared at Draco for a moment before placing a hand on the young man's forearm. “Draco, I'm going to ask you something, and I want you to promise that, if I'm wrong about what I'm thinking, you'll just forget what I said. Okay?”_

_Draco gulped. “Ah, sure.”_

_“Are you a wizard?”_

_Draco's eyes went wide with surprise, though not fear. He thought he'd been exceptionally good at hiding any hint that there might have been something slightly... different about him. There was that last little slip, though, when he'd nearly said “potions” instead of “chemistry.”_

_“I guess the answer to that depends on how you define 'wizard,'” Draco replied._

_“Pretty simple, I'd say. Does magic, has a wand, casts spells, brews... potions. That's what you were going to say, wasn't it?” Bob challenged, without any heat in the confrontation._

_“How do...” Draco seemed unable to formulate which question he wanted to ask._

_“We're in Salem, Draco,” he scoffed. “You're not the first wizard to come through here, nor will you be the last. Besides, although I'm not a wizard, my wife is a witch, and I do mean that in the nicest way,” he added with a smirk not unlike one that Draco might have issued in his cockier days._

_Draco flushed, not knowing what he should say, if anything, about the circumstances that had brought him to Salem. What if Bob decided to fire him because of his past? For now, he'd... obfuscate, and he'd figure out the rest later._

_“I, uh, don't have a wand (on me, he silently added), nor do I cast spells (at work), and I don't do magic (in public), so I guess the logical conclusion is that I am not, in fact, a wizard,” he answered. Nothing that he'd said was technically a lie, at least for the last sixteen months, though there was something in him that wanted to cross his fingers behind his back, in one of the world's oldest known physical talismans. He'd only used magic a small handful of times since the right had been restored to him three months ago, and only when doing something the Muggle way was not possible._

_“Whatever you say, Draco. I'm sure you have your reasons and I won't invade your privacy, but don't sweat it, kid. If there is any wizard in you, it'll make you a better chef because of the way you guys work with potions. You can do one shift a week in the kitchen with the head chef to start, and we'll see how it goes from there.”_

_Bob rose, followed quickly by Draco, and the two men kept eye contact for a moment. “By the way,” the restaurateur said, “he's a wizard, too.” With that, he left the room, ensuring that a dumbfounded Draco could do nothing but stand there agape._

In retrospect, Draco thought, he should have known that the head chef wasn't a Muggle. He'd always thought that it was the man's larger-than-life personality, but with hindsight always being perfect, he realized that he'd probably sensed his magical aura. It didn't really change the way they interacted, but it altered Draco's perception of the man and gave him some degree of comfort that he could learn from someone who would understand him on another level. Draco had decided, however, that he wouldn't deliberately reveal his heritage; if it somehow slipped out, so be it, but he wasn't going to intentionally tip his hand.

Since the day Bob had cornered him, he'd progressed from working one shift a week, during the first two weeks of the experiment, to working three. The other two were still on the floor as a dinner shift waiter, which he'd decided was harder on the body versus the kitchen work's challenge to his mind.

Marcel Janeford, the Grapevine's Head Chef, had readily taken Draco under his wing, teaching him the proper knife skills and techniques for chopping, slicing, mincing, cubing, and filleting. He'd made his young protege practice over and over again with vegetables and, once their mutual secret had been discovered when an exhausted and distracted Draco had thoughtlessly called a pot a “cauldron,” conjured facsimiles of fish, chicken, and beef. Marcel had pronounced Draco's skills “adequate” after nearly sixteen hours of drilling over the course of two days, attributing the young man's ability to several years of preparing potions ingredients. He'd moved next to explaining and demonstrating the fundamental techniques of sauteing, deep frying, boiling, searing, broiling, braising, roasting, and simmering. Promises of learning the secrets of perfecting the five great sauces kept Draco engaged and focused.

“We're only scratching the surface here, my boy,” Marcel had told him, rubbing his hands together gleefully. It seemed that the sometimes temperamental chef relished the idea of mentoring a young one interested in his profession. “You've got to learn about herbs and spices and soup stocks and cuts of meat and dairy products and...”

At that point, Draco had raised his hands, if not in defeat, at least in supplication. “I get it – there's a lot to learn and I'm barely a babe when it comes to cooking.” He reluctantly had to admit that there was much more to this than he'd ever considered when he'd made simple grilled chops or scrambled eggs for his own meals. He hoped that he'd not bitten off more than he could proverbially chew.

Marcel had assured him that he was learning quickly and, at the very least, meeting his expectations about the pace of his progress. It was then that the man had offered Draco a full-time position in the kitchen as an apprentice sous chef. Draco had accepted without hesitation; his days waiting tables were over, and he was positively buoyant over this new development. The shift in his mood had not gone unnoticed.

“Do you know how much... lighter you seem these days?” David Roy needled at their appointment that morning.

“I think I do, Doc. I'm really relishing all the learning I'm doing at work. I feel like I'm truly accomplishing something.”

“The last few weeks have been quite momentous for you. How does that make you feel?”

“You mean with the other issues?” Draco clarified, waiting for the therapist's nod of affirmation. “I think it's all helped, and I can tell you definitely that I haven't had a nightmare in at least two months. Not being sleep-deprived is a good thing.”

David had chuckled and acknowledged Draco's observation with a nod. “So, what one thing has been niggling at you most these days?” he wondered.

Surprising the therapist, Draco answered without hesitation, “My heritage.”

“What do you mean by that? Tell me more,” Dr. Roy encouraged.

“Several things, actually. I told you a couple of weeks ago about Bob finding out about me being a wizard, and then Marcel had me working so hard that I actually spilled the beans and called a stockpot a 'cauldron.' I can't say that I was completely shocked to find out that Bob figured me out or that Marcel was also a wizard – after all, Salem is one of the oldest wizarding communities outside of Europe. But I guess what had me... uncomfortable about the whole thing was whether they'd find out about my background. About my crimes,” he admitted, his expression strained. “That got me thinking about the long-term costs of the things that I did, and what the Malfoy name means to people.”

“What do you think it means?” David pressed.

“I think it's different depending on which Malfoy you're talking about and which faction you're asking. It feels like, as much as I've been pulling my life together here, things are going to be much more complicated once I go back to England.”

“Well, we both know that your parents have done an awful lot to reclaim the honor of the family name, and I'd bet that they've been pretty vocal about you not being responsible for what happened.”

“I guess that's true, and my trial was certainly all over the wizarding news. But that's not what I'm really worried about. It's more about trust. How will I ever be truly trusted by anyone back home?” Draco worried aloud. “It's not the first time this has come up, but I'm almost half-way through my sentence now. The closer I get to going back, the more anxious I am about whether I'll be accepted by anyone but my family.”

“Yeah, I've heard the argument before, Draco. The Dumbledore faction won't believe you really were bespelled and the pureblood fanatics will think you're an incompetent wuss. I call bullshit on both, kid.”

“Huh?”

“Seriously. First of all, I think you'll find that most people have really short memories. They'll have moved on from what happened at the end of the war because they're all trying to forget the ugliness and rebuild their own lives. Second, from what you've told me, it seems that Dumbledore's people trust him pretty completely. If he tells them that you really aren't a bad sort, they'll believe it. Finally, why do you give a shit about what the pureblood faction thinks, anyway? You don't really believe all that crap, so it shouldn't have any real impact on what you do with the rest of your life.”

“So, you think I'm worrying about nothing?”

“Well, maybe not 'nothing,' but I'd guess that there's only a handful of people who would really give you any grief. Don't spend your energy on that crap. Focus on what you want and what you'll do to get there.”

Draco sat back in his chair and contemplated the Healer's advice. While he would have liked to believe that he could just dive back in to a normal life, he was skeptical that it would be as easy as David Roy seemed to think. He shook his head subconsciously, but the slight movement did not go unobserved.

“Draco?” Dr. Roy prompted at his patient's apparent unease. “Why are you so worried about this?”

The young blond blew out a breath, making a sound not unlike a small child blowing spit bubbles, and he flushed and laughed slightly in his embarrassment at the immature expression. “I want a real life when I go home and I'm afraid I'll never have that,” he confessed, his voice just a mere whisper. With slightly more confidence, he added, “I know I've done a lot of good work here with you, but it's going to be so hard to convince everyone that there's something decent about Draco Malfoy.”

David eyed the man intently, considering what he'd say to help him pull himself out of his sudden funk. “On what do you think a man is judged, Draco?”

“His actions, I'd say, and his words.”

“Okay, not unfair at all. Which is more important?”

“I was always under the impression that actions spoke louder than words, I guess.”

“What actions?”

“Uh, any of them. All of them.”

“Past actions?”

“Of course. They make up your reputation.”

“Current actions don't count?”

“Sure, I guess they do. But people view the present through the lens of the past.”

“How long does it take for something to be a 'past action,' then?”

“Uh, once something is done, it's in the past, I guess.”

“So what you do today is tomorrow's past?” David confirmed, and noted Draco's nod of reluctant agreement. “What do you think people remember more quickly, the distant past or the recent past?”

Draco shrugged. “I suppose it's easier to remember things that happen more recently than things from further back.”

“So if you start creating a new 'past' for yourself, with the actions that you take today, what would that mean?”

“Look, Doc, I see where you're going with this, but I'm here, and everyone I know and care about is six thousand miles away. They aren't going to see, or know about, what I'm doing today, and tomorrow, and the next day. They only know the fucked-up boy that I was.”

“Draco, we can never control how we're perceived by others. The only things we can control are our own choices and how we view ourselves. If you spend all your time worrying about everyone else, you'll lose sight of the work you've done to build yourself back up from the bottom. If you focus on you, and how you can make yourself proud of your accomplishments and soothe your conscience, the rest will take care of itself. I promise. You've made so much progress in so many areas; you need to give yourself credit for what you've achieved. It's no small feat.”

The two men had parted company with reminders about the next day's Roy Family Outing to the ballpark, to which Draco had been invited. He certainly hadn't developed the kind of passion the Roys had for the game of baseball, but he undoubtedly relished the time he spent with them, finding the family a welcome and heartwarming shift from some of his own childhood influences.

While Draco wasn't entirely convinced, he'd come to trust the Healer's opinion and perspective; maybe he'd give the thought a chance to take root. He couldn't deny that hopeful beliefs led to more positive actions than defeatist ideas. He'd seen evidence of that in his incremental progress at the Grapevine. He'd been rewarded in large and small ways by his solid job performance and his demonstrations of eagerness and interest.

The small goals that he'd set for himself had started to pay dividends. He'd had two promotions and was learning a true profession, one that could serve him well in either the Muggle world or the magical. Everyone had to eat, didn't they? And even if he was only feeding himself eventually, he'd learn how to do it to the best of his ability. He smiled at the memory of his first venture in a kitchen, so many months ago and so far away. SPAM and beans were an inauspicious beginning, but their successful preparation had spurred the tiniest hope when he'd been at the lowest point in his life. His desperate need to take care of Hermione in that frigid cottage might have led to something that allowed him to build a decent life, regardless of how he was viewed by the people who had known him at his worst.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

“Surprised” didn't quite cover it, Hermione thought. When Narcissa had told her to keep Saturday evening free for a little dinner, she hadn't expected to see half a dozen of her closest friends arriving through the Floo in Lucius' study. Beyond her undeniable shock, Hermione had to acknowledge how deeply touched she'd been at the effort the Malfoys had made to give her the precious gift of time with her friends.

They'd even made themselves scarce and had seen to Louisa's needs and comforts for the evening so that Hermione wouldn't be distracted by anything but good food and warm conversation. Narcissa had arranged for a casual dinner that included lots of finger foods and free-flowing libations. It wasn't long before peals of laughter and the buzz of excited conversation could be heard ringing through the air.

Lucius stared pointedly at his wife, refusing to say aloud what his expression clearly intimated.

“I know, you were right,” she admitted sheepishly, taking a pause to sip at her Remy Martin. “It is rather nice to hear young people enjoying themselves, isn't it?”

“It is, dear,” Lucius acknowledged quietly. “I'm just chagrined that Draco isn't one of them.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Kate Roy, PhD, MH 3rd Class, peered over her reading glasses at her patient. She'd finished reviewing the notes from their last session just as he stepped into her office. “Good evening, Draco. Have a seat,” she offered with a smile.

“Dr. Kate,” he returned with a nod, selecting his favorite armchair near the picture window.

“How are you this afternoon?”

“I'm well, thank you. Enjoying my day off,” he noted.

“That's good. The boys wanted me to tell you how much they enjoyed you joining us for the game on Tuesday. They've been talking about it non-stop for three days,” she added with a chuckle.

“It was my pleasure. Thank you once again for inviting me.” His words were cordial and appreciative, but his manner was agitated and fidgety.

She waved a hand, silently communicating that no thanks were needed, and opened their session with a broad question, hoping that he'd feel comfortable enough to quickly share what was troubling him. “What's to be our topic today? Anything that you want to discuss?”

Draco focused his attention on the floor between his feet, causing Kate to conclude that her assumptions that there was something niggling at him was not unwarranted; this was a behavior that had repeated itself several times. The deep blushing and painful reticence had lessened somewhat over the months, but it seemed clear that he would never come to a point where he'd be truly comfortable talking about his sexuality.

“Am I truly so odd?”

The question seemed a bit non sequitor and Kate had no choice but to ask for clarification. “In what way?”

“That I don't go chasing after everything – or really anything, I guess - in a skirt.”

“Why do you ask?” she began, and quickly amended her comments with a qualifier, “And recognize that I'm not confirming your assertion.”

“Bob keeps trying to fix me up with different girls and he looks at me strangely when I refuse. I think he's starting to think I'm gay,” he explained.

“What do you tell him?”

“I just politely decline.”

“Without further explanation?”

“Right. I guess I just don't know how to put him off without insulting him.”

“Why don't you tell him the truth?”

“What truth? That I'm pining over a girl who will never have me?” he asked morosely.

“Well, that's not exactly what I meant, but something that acknowledges that you're not currently in the market for a relationship.”

“I don't think he's hinting at 'relationships' per se; more likely he's thinking that a bloke of my age wouldn't mind having it off now and again.”

“And why wouldn't you want that?” she pressed, for what Draco probably saw as the millionth time, already anticipating his consistent answer.

“I won't put myself into a sexual situation that isn't part of a relationship, not after everything that I did. And the only woman I want a relationship with is thousands of miles away, and not just in a geographic sense.”

“Are you really that committed to wanting her and only her?”

“More's the pity, isn't it?” he replied with an undignified snort.

Kate resisted her desire to sigh aloud. Her patient had undoubtedly made much-needed and deserved progress, but he was stuck at a plateau. His guilt over the crimes he'd committed had only been assuaged to the point where he wasn't punishing himself daily by withholding his own basic needs and pleasures. The idea of connecting physically with another person was anathema to him, and the therapist was convinced that it was only partly due to his unfounded fear of reverting to the sadistic beast he had been under his aunt's horrific influence. He was emotionally in a relationship without the benefit of actually having a partner.

Kate began to wonder whether there was anything else she could do to further his healing. If he had reached the point where he could deal with his physical urges in a mature and healthy way, and had made an unshakeable decision to be faithful to his heart, there was little more she could do than be a supportive ear for him. Maybe that was enough; it might be time to have that discussion fairly soon.

“Draco, I know there's absolutely nothing I can say to you that will sway your thinking on dating someone who's not 'Her,' but you should recognize that your boss is only doing this because he likes and cares about you. He sees your loneliness and he's doing the only thing he can think of to try to ease that for you. You're either going to have to give him an explanation that you're comfortable with, or you're going to need to accept that his view of who you are will be inaccurate. It's up to you to decide which option is... least distasteful.”

He stared at her blankly, mulling the options she'd outlined. “I can't say that I really care if someone thinks that I'm gay; it just happens to not be true. The downside there is that if he comes to that conclusion, I could see him trying to fix me up with blokes instead of girls. That'd be even odder to deflect than the current flow of females,” he observed, laughing mirthlessly. “I suppose I could tell him that I have a girl back home, but then he'd probably wonder why I'm so far away for so long.” Draco rose and began pacing. “One lie compounds with another and another, doesn't it?”

“It doesn't seem to me that you've really lied to him; you've withheld information. I know that's splitting hairs from a moral standpoint, but everyone is entitled to their privacy to some degree.”

He turned to face Kate again. “There's one thing I could tell him that would probably halt things pretty effectively, but it would also mean that I'd have to acknowledge that I am, in fact, a wizard, just as he suspected.”

“And would that be so bad? He seems to not have a problem with the concept.”

“I guess not. He seems to be operating under that assumption anyway, even though I technically denied it.”

“So, what do you think you could you tell him that would do the trick?”

“That I'm affianced to someone back home and the betrothal contract requires faithfulness. That's not uncommon in the wizarding world, and I think he'd buy it. It's not true, but it's the closest I can come without making the situation worse,” he concluded, shrugging with indecision.

“So then what's the explanation for you being here?” she challenged.

“That's the part that I have no earthly clue how to deal with,” he admitted. “I'd really rather not tell him that I'm here in exile for my horrific crimes. I'm sure I'll come up with something that's close to believable.”

She glared at him, scolding him silently for his self-recriminations.

“What? It's the truth,” he pushed back.

“Barely. And you know it. Don't start playing that game again, Draco. You're past that.”

“Apparently not,” he muttered under his breath, staring out the window.

“What's going on with you today? Did something else happen that you haven't shared with me?” she probed.

He was silent for what felt like hours, but was really just seconds. “I thought I was getting better. I told Dr. David just a few days ago that I hadn't been bothered with nightmares in weeks, and that was true, until last night.”

Kate swallowed the concern that bubbled up for the young man she'd come to care about; she remained impassive and professional as she nodded at him. “And?”

“I had one. A bad one.” His voice was a shaky as his hands.

“About?”

“Her.”

“I see,” she quietly acknowledged. “Will you tell me?”

“I'd rather not relive it, but if I don't get it out, it's going to consume me whole.”

“Okay. Take your time. Sit down for a minute and take a deep breath.” She watched as he complied, the slightest tremor still visible in his limbs. “Close your eyes. Breathe again. And again.”

He followed her instructions and felt himself calming enough to begin speaking.

“It started out quite pleasantly. We were sitting together in a parlor, and chatting. I was playing with a curl of her hair and she smiled at me. I leaned over to kiss her and she responded to me, running her fingers up my arm to caress my shoulder....”

_Draco shivered when her delicate touch met the bare skin at the base of his throat. He leaned forward, taking her with him to rest against the arm of the settee, settling his weight lightly atop her smaller form. His kisses became more urgent as he trailed his hand along her hip, grasping tightly as his thumb made gentle circles over the sensitive spot where her thigh met her lower abdomen. He heard her moan in appreciation and chuckled low against her lips in response. He moved his hand along her shoulder when she wrapped her arms around his neck, tugging them closer together. Their tongues entwined urgently, sharing the taste of the rich red wine they'd both been sipping minutes earlier._

_Draco's hand ghosted along her ribs, reaching for the soft mound of her breast. He gently kneaded and stroked as she gasped into his open mouth, hot breath coming quicker with each heartbeat, and he noted her sharp intake of air when his thumb grazed the peaked nipple. He felt cool air on his chest and finally noticed that she had begun to release each ivory button on his cream silk shirt from its fastening. The chill dissipated as her hands massaged from clavicle to waist, freeing the fabric from the restriction of his trousers. His own hands had not been idle; the jumper she'd worn now rested on the floor beside them. He grasped both of her hips and tugged them so that they were flush with his own. He relished her gasp when she felt his rigidity, obviously ready for her._

_He levered his body just enough to allow his hands to skate along her thighs, under the modest linen skirt she'd worn. They were soft, warm, trembling under his touch. He couldn't help but to reach for the center that seemed to beckon him; he could smell her arousal as much as she could feel his. He was desperate to touch her, taste her, bring her, or he'd go insane. His long, slim fingers probed and stroked, finding the spot that made her squeal when he brushed it firmly. Lips, tongue and teeth nibbled at her ears, neck, shoulder._

_Draco leaned back on his heels and unbuckled his belt, flicked open the button and unzipped his fly. He smiled when she looked wide-eyed at the length that threatened to burst through his black silk boxers. He made quick work of the tiny pink satin knickers that barely covered her sex and felt welcomed and wanted when her knees parted and arms opened to accept him into her embrace. One finger, then two, teased at her opening and ensured that she was fully ready for him. He leaned forward, steadied his length in hand, and guided his organ to her entrance. A sharp thrust ensured that he was fully encased in her depths, and he stroked his length in and out, in and out, building tension and rhythm that caused him to pant with labored breaths. His hands found her arms, her shoulders, her neck, and he squeezed, cutting off her access to air. He moved faster and faster, finding his pleasure as she struggled for breath. He recognized the reddening of her skin and her feeble attempts to fight him off. He kept going until he found his release and she had stilled, silent and struggling no more._

“And then I woke up, soaked in sweat and screaming for her at the top of my lungs,” he confessed, staring once more at the floor between his feet.

Kate needed a second to formulate what questions she would ask and what observations she might share. This was... a bit of a setback, but she didn't want to make more if it than it was, nor alarm Draco beyond where he already obviously was.

“There's always another monster, isn't there? And he's me,” Draco whispered.

“No, Draco, you're not a monster. Your distress alone is proof of that. And don't forget that the dream began in a very loving, tender interaction. You've been in therapy long enough to know that you can't control the content of your dreams to any real extent,” Kate responded. She paused a moment longer before continuing, eyes suddenly flashing and meeting his as she recalled a conversation they'd had very early in his therapy. “You told me months ago about one of your memories. From the cottage. You were fighting the potion's influence – the time you heard the voices compelling you to 'finish her off' while you were actually trying to save her.”

He nodded, still reluctant to drag his gaze from the knot in the oak floor where his attention had immediately refocused. “I remember,” he mumbled, squeezing his eyes tightly as he recalled the moment nearly a year and a half earlier when his fingers had, for just a few seconds, rested against the creamy skin of Hermione's neck.

“It's sounds to me like this was a combination of a dream and a relived memory. What do you think about that?” she asked, trying to keep her tone light and unconcerned.

“I suppose that's possible,” he acknowledged, “but why would they converge that way if there isn't some evil tendency in me?”

“Why wouldn't they? It's a nightmare, not a premonition. You woke up screaming in terror because the thought of hurting her horrified you, certainly not because you were excited or pleased by it.”

He snorted and mumbled something under his breath.

“Draco, you know better than that,” Kate scolded. “What?”

“I said that it was a quicker erection killer than a cold shower.”

She bit her lip to keep from laughing. “I have no doubt.” She closed her notebook, indicating that their session was coming to an end. “And that's more proof that you're not the evil bastard you apparently think yourself to be. Your reaction to the nightmare wasn't sexual release; it was horrified, anxious, and concerned. You shouldn't be worried; I'm definitely not. Trust me, Draco, if you had something to be anxious about here, I'd be the first one to tell you. I've never lied to you and I'm sure not about to start.”

Draco sighed, deep and long. “I know. There's probably no one on the planet that I trust more than you and Dr. David,” he admitted without hesitation. His next thought was introspective and solemn. “I suppose I still have some work to do on trusting myself.”


	17. Quivers

Hermione had one more patient to see before she could finish up her day’s paperwork and make it back to the manor to meet Draco at the agreed-upon time. If pressed, she would admit that she was the tiniest bit nervous about it. She wasn’t afraid; there was no doubt at all that he meant her no harm. It was more the opposite issue. The more she thought about their interactions over the last day and a half, the more she was convinced that he was feeling something for her that would make their parenting relationship uncomfortable and challenging. She had no idea how to deflect his apparent attraction to her, other than to remain aloof and distant. She chose to ignore the question that poked at the back of her brain… “Why?” … and chose to further reject the many possibilities of meaning for that same one-word query.

She was therefore grateful that her final appointment for the afternoon, a very young boy who had been suffering from frequent nightmares, was easily resolved when it was discovered through a neat bit of regressive Legilimency that his older sibling had been charming the child’s bed to bump up and down against the floor every night. Hermione sent the boy home with a prescription for a permanent counter-charm and a recommendation to his parents for a little scolding for their elder son. If only they were all this easy, Hermione thought, shaking her head with amusement. She settled at her desk to dictate her remaining notes using parchment and auto-quill.

Forty minutes later, she was ready to leave. Gathering her cloak, wand, and briefcase, she concentrated on her destination and Disapparated, appearing just seconds later in the foyer of Malfoy Manor. With a shuddering breath, she dashed up the stairs to her suite, shedding her work clothes in favor of something slightly more comfortable. The lightweight tan wool trousers and cream-colored cashmere v-neck jumper were topped by a chocolate brown wool jacket. She tugged her hair out of the tight chignon in which she’d tamed it early that morning, allowing it to graze her shoulders; she was developing a headache that she chose to attribute to the pull of her hair against her scalp. Releasing the tension would stop the throbbing in her temples. At least that’s what she hoped. She tucked her wand into her handbag and went down the stairs to find Draco. She’d heard his voice a few minutes earlier as he’d called out for his father, so he was probably in Lucius’ study.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Lucius looked up from the afternoon edition of the Daily Prophet as the door to his study opened. Only Narcissa, Hermione, Louisa, and Draco could open the door without triggering security wards, so he wasn’t especially concerned. Louisa wasn’t a likely possibility, as she was neither tall nor strong enough yet to twist the doorknob. The remaining family members’ common practice, however, was to knock before entering, so he was mildly surprised at the intrusion into his private domain.

“Father, you and I need to talk.”

 _Ah, there it is_ , Lucius thought.

“About?” he prompted.

“You know damned well what about. I met with Barrister Phillips this afternoon, and while he couldn’t tell me everything – thanks to you – I was able to discover enough about what you’ve been up to. I’m not at all surprised, and even less pleased that you’re interfering in my life,” he accused, clearly angry but still in control of his emotions.

Lucius adopted his usual mask of cool, calm, collectedness and shrugged lightly. “I’ve only done what’s necessary to ensure a… positive outcome for everyone concerned.”

“Don’t you think that Hermione and I would like to determine what ‘positive’ means for each of us? My definition and hers could be radically different, not only from yours but from each other,” he replied, his voice raised and strained. He sighed. “Look, Father, I know that you want me to be happy, and it’s pretty clear that whatever you’ve done sets up some kind of legal entanglement between Hermione and me. I understand that you’re doing what comes naturally to you, too. But if there’s any hope of the two of us having a real, genuine relationship, I want that to be on terms that she and I can agree on, not a forced, false link that exists because of a piece of parchment.”

“Nothing I’ve done forces anyone to do anything, nor will it… work if anyone’s feelings are not genuine. It just… ensures that if those things come to be, the way will be … easier for you.”

“Why won’t you just tell me what it is you’ve done?” Draco complained, trying to keep any whinging out of his tone.

“Because if you do know, it could create false expectations and influences that would push the two of you apart. It will be better if you come to your conclusions naturally. Should either of you find… contentment with another person, it will not prevent you from following your heart. That’s all I’m going to say on the matter.” With that, he rose, dropping the newspaper on his desk, and left the room, practically trampling Hermione as she tried to enter.

Her eyes followed Lucius’ departing figure and in a moment, she turned to face Draco. “What was all that about?”

The younger Malfoy shook his head. “I wish I really knew,” he muttered. In a stronger tone, he added, “It’s nothing we need to be concerned about for now. Let’s just get to the townhouse and do what we need to, all right?” He tried to smile, but it was slightly more reminiscent of a grimace.

Hermione shrugged. “If you say so. Let’s go.”

Draco offered his hand and she stared at it, not quite sure what he expected.

“The Floo needs to be opened at the other end,” he explained. “We’ll have to Apparate.” He couldn’t help but feel a little disheartened that she was reluctant to even hold his hand for that simple purpose.

“Oh, of course,” she answered quickly, slightly embarrassed that she’d not thought of the simple magical necessity. She reached out and took his hand, and to convey that she was not upset or angry, gave it the slightest squeeze. 

Draco nodded and closed his eyes, sending them through time and space to the foyer of the property he would call home for the immediate future. When Hermione stumbled slightly upon landing, he steadied her with gentle hands at her elbows. He released her a second later when it was clear she had regained her footing.

Both of them looked around the high-ceilinged entry. Draco hadn’t been to this property in at least ten years and had to reorient himself for a moment to be sure he recalled its layout. Hermione snorted in amusement as she took in the scale and size of the space; the townhouse was undoubtedly quite a bit larger than what she’d expected. The Malfoys’ definition of “small” and “modest” clearly didn’t square with her own. This property had to be at least six thousand square feet. Of course, compared to Malfoy Manor’s grand thirty-four thousand, she could see how they’d apply their description.

“Shall we explore a bit?” Draco offered.

Hermione nodded mutely, following him into a large, sunny sitting room on their right. The room featured walls painted in a sky blue and eight tall, skinny windows, four on each exterior wall, each bottomed by a thickly-cushioned built-in seat. There were no drapes; she assumed that the windows were charmed to prevent prying eyes from peering inside.

She noted that the handful of armchairs and sofas were covered by white sheets; it seemed that was a strategy that spanned cultures. A massive marble fireplace was the focal point on the far wall. It was easily large enough to serve as a Floo entry. The floor, a beautiful parquet of mahogany and cherry woods, was bare of rugs except for a single small oval under the writing desk that abutted the front wall. The room’s only other dominant feature was a seven-foot mahogany case clock in the far right corner, where time was figuratively standing still. It apparently was not charmed to run continuously and needed its weights and pendulum to be rebalanced.

“Beautiful,” she whispered.

“Yes, quite lovely,” he agreed, watching her face as the late afternoon sunlight fell on her hair and cheeks. He cleared his throat and spoke to her. “Let’s continue. There’s a lot to see.”

They walked side by side along the foyer’s right side to the next room, a slightly more intimate sitting room which seemed to have served as an office as it held one of the largest oak desks Hermione had ever seen. The intricate carving on the privacy panels featured mermaids and water nymphs, frolicking on sea-side boulders.

“This belonged to my grandfather, Abraxus, and my father has used it since his passing,” Draco explained when Hermione ran her fingers over the highly polished surface. How this one piece had not gathered any dust was a mystery, most likely solved by the explanation of a durable self-cleaning charm.

Two enormous armchairs faced the desk. Like the furniture in the previous room, they were covered by white sheeting. Hermione could imagine, though, that they were upholstered in fine leather. Another equally large desk chair sat behind the wooden behemoth, its high back turned to one side as though someone had just vacated it. Unlike the others, this seat was not draped with a protective fabric but its deep burgundy leather was as clean as the desk. Another charm, Hermione surmised.

Noticing that Draco was turning to leave, she followed him back into the foyer, where they by-passed a staircase on the way to two rooms off the back boundary of the open space. The first was a large dining room, featuring a long cherry wood table that, on quick count, seated twenty. A matching sideboard and large china closet rested on opposite walls, which were colored a deep burgundy. An intricate Aubusson rug, in ivory, rose, burgundy and forest green, covered the floor under the table, reaching out another half meter beyond the Queen Anne styled chairs. Heavy ivory brocade drapes hung from the windows that flanked either side of the china closet, which housed a full set of antique Lenox china and delicate Waterford crystal wine and beverage glasses.

“I love that pattern,” she commented, indicating the gilt-edged, cream plates and bowls. “So simple, but elegant.”

Draco chuckled. “I’ll be sure to serve dinner on it when you visit, then.”

She smirked. “As long as it’s something better than SPAM. Rumor has it that you’ve learned a thing or two.”

“I have,” he responded, but didn’t elaborate further.

“Well, we should check out the kitchen, then. I’m sure you’re interested in what you’ll have to work with.” She smiled at him, indicating her mild teasing.

“I am,” he answered, in all seriousness. “Let’s.” He waived an arm, inviting her to precede him out of the room. “If memory serves me, I think it’s to the left of this room in relation to the front door.”

Draco was correct. The large, open kitchen wasn’t exactly state-of-the-art modern in Muggle standards, but it was as complete and functional as any wizarding kitchen could hope to be. A breakfast nook with a small round table and six ladder-back chairs were tucked into the far left corner. The walls, painted a soft, sunny yellow, were dotted by wooden cabinets and equipment racks containing copper pots and sauté pans and magically-powered appliances: mixers, toasters, waffle-makers, etc. His eyes went wide with delight at the collection of kitchen implements and tools that would allow him to create a masterpiece or two. His smile was broad and bright.

She couldn’t help but notice that Draco was as enthralled as she’d ever seen him. He walked the perimeter of the room, touching the granite-topped counters and opening the cabinets, clearly overjoyed with everything he found. “You’re in your element here, aren’t you?” she questioned.

He nodded, glancing back at her. He hoped that she hadn’t noticed the brightness in his eyes. He felt a little… ridiculous to be getting emotional about a nicely-equipped kitchen. Then again, there was something about this space that felt like… more.

Hermione had noticed, however, and wondered what had happened to the young man that such a simple thing as a kitchen could evoke such a powerful response. She was observant enough to recognize that it wasn’t something he wanted to discuss at the moment, so she allowed it to pass. The layers of Draco Malfoy were apparently more plentiful than she had imagined.

He cleared his throat once again and waved his hand to guide her out of the room, looking back to take it in again as they moved to the rooms on the left side of the foyer. The first space they entered was comparable in size to the office on the opposite side of the building, but furnished in a completely different style.

This room, its walls the color of vanilla cream, had a glossy black Steinway nine-foot grand piano in the center, its lid lifted and cover open to expose the ivory and ebony keys. A long, padded, tufted black leather bench was tucked underneath. Sheet music for Beethoven’s Pathetique Sonata rested on the music stand. Sofas and armchairs, all covered with sheets, were placed throughout the room. A large green marble fireplace, though markedly smaller than the one in the front parlor, was featured in the center of the outside wall.

“Ohhh,” Hermione said through a gasp, “It’s beautiful. Do you play?”

Draco shrugged. “I used to. Haven’t touched a piano in years, though.”

“I took lessons for a couple of years before Hogwarts, but I haven’t played since then.” She touched the keys, picking out the melody of a simple piece, another Beethoven work, the Fur Elise. “Maybe we could arrange for lessons for Louisa when she’s a little older?” she posed.

“I’m sure that would be lovely. I know I always did enjoy making music when I was young. I… regret that I didn’t keep up with it.”

“Well, nothing says you couldn’t pick it back up again. After all, with such a fabulous instrument in the house, it would be a dreadful shame to have it sit unused.”

He nodded. “I think I’d probably enjoy that. I recall it being a great way to get rid of frustrations,” he noted. “The piano keys never argued when you pounded on them.” He offered a crooked smile.

She peered at him intently. “There’s so much I don’t know about you.”

“I know,” he stated simply. “And the same is true of me for you. That’s why I thought it was a good idea for us to spend some private time together each week. It will allow us to know each other as people. I think that will be important in ensuring we raise Louisa well.”

She nodded in agreement, but said nothing. They left the music room for the final space on the first floor.

“I think you’ll like this room quite a lot,” Draco announced, opening the double doors for her, revealing a massive, obviously magically enlarged, library. He laughed aloud at her delighted gasp. “See? There is a thing or two that I do know, Miss Granger,” he teased.

She smiled broadly, meeting the grey eyes that twinkled with amusement, and rushed past him into the room that was lined, floor to ceiling, with packed bookshelves. Free-standing stacks covered at least two-thirds of the floor space. Four large leather armchairs were strategically placed throughout the room to take advantage of light from overhead illumination that was charmed to look like skylights. Small rectangular side tables, each made of teak, sat beside each chair. A Tiffany glass reading lamp decorated each.

“This is… incredible!” she enthused, darting to the closest stack and running her finger delicately along the spine of a leather-bound first edition of “Through the Looking Glass.”

“A Muggle book?” Hermione questioned.

“Uh, you’ll find quite a lot of them here, but, no. Lewis Carroll was, without a doubt, a wizard. Ravenclaw, if I recall.”

“No kidding?” she replied.

“No kidding,” Draco confirmed. “I freely admit that Muggles have terrific literature, but Carroll was most definitely a wizard. Think about the content, Hermione. It’s even a little far out there for us.”

She laughed in tacit agreement, eyes trailing along shelf after shelf of classics from both Muggle and magical authors. “This is almost as impressive as the library at the Manor,” she pronounced.

“I’d have to ask Father to be sure, but I think I remember him telling me that it had duplicates of about half of the books in the main library, and another two thousand or so unique to this collection. I’d guess that puts the total at about fourteen thousand volumes, give or take. You’ll definitely find things here that you’ve never seen before,” Draco told her, enjoying the flushed look of glee on her face as she moved about the room, oohing and ahhing over the tomes that were new to her.

“I hope you won’t mind if I pop over now and again to borrow something,” she asked, hoping that she wasn’t being too forward.

“Of course not. I hope you’ll think of it as your library to use as you wish. And since we’ll be visiting here at least once a week with Louisa, you’ll have every opportunity to peruse and read to your heart’s content.”

“Thank you, Draco. That’s very kind of you.”

He waved a hand in dismissal. “Really, after everything you’ve done for me, it’s absolutely nothing.” He looked at her pointedly to emphasize his sincerity.

“Still… I appreciate it.”

“Do you want to see the rest of the house now, or would you rather hang out it here for a while?” Draco offered.

Reluctantly, Hermione tore herself away from the third edition of Hogwarts, A History, and gave Draco a genuine smile. “As much as I’d like to sit here for hours, the reason we came here today is to figure out rooms and needs for Louisa. I’ll come back another time,” she agreed. “What’s next?”

“Just so you know, there are two bathrooms here on the first level,” he noted, pointing to two closed doors, one tucked under the stairwell and the second just to the left of the kitchen. “Let’s head upstairs. All the bedrooms are there,” Draco replied.

He led the way to the staircase in the foyer. It curved slightly at the bottom, beginning in a wide landing and narrowing at the top. This time, Draco moved to the left side of the open area first. “I think this front room is what used to be a guest room.” He opened the double doors to reveal a tastefully decorated room in shades of green and cream. The sage-colored walls were accented by forest green velvet drapes which covered ivory lace panels. The bedding on the queen-sized four poster mahogany bed featured layers of duvets and coverlets ranging in colors from a rich cream to the same forest green that had been used in the draperies. A great stack of decorative pillows in the same colors covered nearly half of the bed’s surface.

The floor was covered in an ivory-colored wool carpet, thick and spongy under their feet. Two wing-backed chairs upholstered in sage green velvet flanked a round mahogany table, all facing an ivory marble fireplace. Hermione peered out the front windows, noticing the lovely views of London for the first time.

“This really is gorgeous. I’d hate to change it unless we really need to,” she remarked, noticing as Draco opened the doors to a large walk-in closet and en-suite bathroom.

“Well, it’s entirely up to you, as far as I’m concerned. I have no attachment to anything here. The last time I was in this house, I was maybe thirteen or fourteen, and I don’t think my parents used it more than a dozen times since then. They were very clear that it’s yours to do with as you please, and I do intend to only be here a short time,” he reminded her, “unless something changes dramatically, one way or another.” What that change might be, Draco failed to articulate.

“Let’s see the rest of the rooms, then we’ll make decisions,” Hermione pronounced, confident that would be the most prudent approach.

“Sure. The next suite was mine when I was a kid. I was thinking it might be an appropriate space for Louisa, but again, it’s up to you.”

Draco opened the doors to a room with wall-coverings of brocaded powder blue silk. Deep navy damask draperies covered six tall, narrow windows. A king-sized bed of ebony wood was centered on the wall parallel to the doors. To the right were two closed doors, which Draco opened to reveal another large walk-in closet and a white and grey marble-dominated bath. A small fireplace of polished black granite was tucked between the two doors. The space between the bed and the fireplace was filled by a black leather sofa and a low, rectangular ebony table.

An ebony armoire rested against the wall perpendicular to the bed and a matching desk sat against the same wall. Only revealed when she stepped fully into the room, Hermione saw the one concession to Draco’s status as a young teen when he’d last occupied this space: posters of international Quidditch stars graced the wall opposite the bed. She laughed aloud at the sight.

“What?” he asked, smiling sheepishly at her laughter.

“Well, the posters are very funny when you compare them to the… elegance of the rest of the room. And it’s so… blue!”

“What did you expect?” he wondered.

“Uh, I don’t know. I thought maybe it might be Slytherin colors,” she guessed with a shrug.

“Hey, I happen to like blue. Green and black don’t actually go that well together, I think. And besides, my mother decorated this room long before I got sorted.”

“You have to admit, the likelihood you’d land in any other house was pretty darned slim, Draco,” she needled.

“True. But I was always partial to blue. Went better with my eyes,” he offered with a smirk and a flutter of his eyelids.

Once more, Hermione found herself laughing not at him, but with him. She noted that she was feeling much more relaxed than she’d been when they arrived nearly an hour before. He wasn’t nearly as annoying or moon-eyed as she’d feared he might be. Maybe they could find a way to peacefully co-exist without unbearable tension.

“So, what do you think?” Draco prodded.

“Huh?”

“About the room. Do you think this might be all right for Louisa?” he asked, sounding eager, as though he really liked the idea of his little girl living in his old room.

“It’s certainly a nice, large space and it will get good afternoon sunlight. Are you sure you wouldn’t mind giving it up?” Hermione asked.

“Positive. I’ll move into the larger suite next door. We’ll look at that in a minute. What would we need to do to make this work for her?”

“Well, she certainly doesn’t need a king-sized bed, so that will gain back some space for a play area. What if we change the colors to pink and white? Maybe use bleached oak furniture. All she’ll need is a full-sized bed, a dresser, a smaller desk where she can do art projects and a chest for her toys,” Hermione noted as she wandered the room, indicating the spots where she thought the new furnishings might fit best.

“I don’t think there’s much in the closet, and anything that’s in there is certainly way too small for me now, so I’ll clear that all out and donate it to a charity,” Draco told her.

Hermione paused, not sure she’d heard him correctly. “Did you say ‘donate’ it?”

“Yeah, why?”

“That’s … really sweet.”

He shrugged. “If I can’t use it and it’s still in good condition, it’d certainly be better for someone to get benefit from it than to throw it out. That’s just wasteful,” he observed solemnly.

 _Who are you and what have you done with Draco Malfoy?_ Hermione thought.

“Very sensible,” Hermione said.

“I, uh, learned a thing or two about being in need along the way,” Draco explained. “If I’m in a position to help, I will. Anyway, I guess we can do the same with the furniture. It’d be unlikely that we can do permanent transfiguration on all of this, and there’s plenty of other furniture in the other bedrooms. I’ll purchase whatever Louisa needs tomorrow and we’ll get it delivered as soon as possible,” he said. “Would you like to come shopping with me? Just so I don’t get anything that’s the wrong size or style?”

“Sure. I’m working in the morning, but I’ll be done by about one o’clock. We can go then, if you like.”

“Perfect. Is that furniture maker in Diagon Alley still there?” he asked.

“Yes, as far as I know. There’s another one that opened just down the block from Weasley’s last year, too. Their designs are a little more modern, and a tiny bit less expensive. That might be a better choice.”

“Whatever you wish. Let’s just meet at the manor again, and we’ll go together.”

“Since I’m going to be down in that area anyway, why don’t you meet me at St. Mungo’s? It’d save a little time,” she offered.

“That’s a good idea. I’ll meet you there at quarter after one,” he confirmed. “For now, let’s go see the other suites and decide if there’s anything that needs to be added or replaced.”

“Lead the way,” she said with a smile, waving him ahead as he’d for her done earlier.

“This is the master suite,” he noted, opening a set of very large double doors. “It’s a ‘his and hers’ space,” he added nervously.

“A what?”

“Like my parents’ suite at the manor. A large main suite and a slightly smaller suite joined by a sitting room,” he explained, reminding her of the similar layout that she’d seen a handful of times. It was the Malfoys’ private sanctuary, rarely visited by anyone else.

“Oh. Of course,” she acknowledged.

The doorway opened into the sitting room that he’d mentioned. The room was intimate and understated, decorated in warm tones of tan, cream and rich, dark brown. A tan suede loveseat sat in the room’s center, facing the large picture window which overlooked the small garden in the rear of the property. The wide, dark-stained wood casing gave the effect of creating a picture frame for the spring blooms in pink, coral, red, yellow, white, and lavender accented by the vibrant greens of stems, leaves and newly-mown grass. Matching walnut desks sat against the wall on either side of the large window, each surface protected by tan leather desk blotters, and dotted with inkwells filled with several colors of ink and numerous fine-nibbed quills. Floor-to-ceiling bookcases of the same wood sat beside each desk. High-backed chairs upholstered in beige leather were tucked into the knee-holes.

Hermione stood silently, taking in the details of the elegant, peaceful room as Draco watched her reaction. She evidently liked it, if her wide eyes and broad smile were any indication. Finally, she shook herself from her reverie and stepped over to look out over the verdant, quintessential English garden. “Lovely,” she whispered, and took a moment to enjoy the view before turning to face Draco once more.

“You approve?” he asked, for confirmation.

“Uh, yes. I can’t imagine why I wouldn’t.”

A wave of sadness passed over him as he thought about the likelihood of her changing her mind when she understood that this space would be shared with him. He made an imperceptible shake of his head to clear the thought and waved toward a door on his right. “The main suite is through there. Let’s take a look.”

“You need to open it,” he instructed.

“Why?” she asked, obviously confused.

“The house is legally in your name. This room has a magical ‘milady’s lock’ on it. It will only admit the property owner, someone specifically invited into the room by that person, or someone who is dearly loved by that person,” he informed her.

“I’ve never heard of such a thing, but it’s rather… ingenious.”

“I’m not terribly surprised that you wouldn’t have known about them, but they’re fairly common in old-family homes. Very old magic, that. Designed to ensure that the lady of the house was… protected from unwanted… visitors,” he added with a flush on his cheeks.

She blushed at his obvious inference, but chose not to comment. She stepped past him and twisted the doorknob, feeling the tingle of magic as the house acknowledged her right to be there. The room was very nearly as large as her own suite at Malfoy Manor and was decidedly feminine, but not to the point of being frilly. The dominant color was the rich mauve of the silk wall-coverings, accented with cream-painted woodwork and delicate floral touches in the draperies and upholstery on the loveseat and two wing-backed chairs. A king-sized bed was covered in a canopy of cream silk which matched the thick down-filled duvet. The pillows – at least eight of them – were covered in a shade of mauve slighter softer than that on the walls. Doors on the far side of the room led to a bath and walk-in closet, Hermione concluded.

She looked back to find that he was still standing in the sitting room. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“I can’t come in,” he replied.

“Of course you can,” she retorted, apparently slightly confused.

“Not until you…”

Realization dawned and she blushed once again. “Oh, sorry. Draco, would you enter the room, please?”

He gave her a slight grin and stepped over the threshold. “The consequences are not pretty. I’d be walking hunched over for days, trust me.”

“Well, that wouldn’t do, now, would it?” she replied, reasonably.

“This, obviously, will be your room when you and Louisa come to visit,” Draco pronounced.

She shook her head slightly. “I couldn’t possibly…”

“Of course you can. I’m sure you’ll want to be here with Louisa, and it doesn’t make sense for you to use the guest room, as this room already ‘knows’ you. Besides, it will be yours when you eventually move in anyway, after I’ve found my own place. It’s just logical for you to take it now. I’ll take the suite on the opposite side,” he added. “You’ll be perfectly safe here, Hermione.”

This time, the shake of her head was for a different reason. “I’m sorry; that’s not what I was implying, Draco. This is all just a little overwhelming.”

“Tell me about it.” His muttering was just loud enough to be understood.

She snickered nervously in her embarrassment. “I guess that’s the understatement of the decade, isn’t it?”

“No argument from me there,” he replied. “Would you like to see my suite?”

It was clear to him that she was not able to find a polite reason to refuse – after all, the property was technically hers – he saw her agree with a nod and she followed him from the room. As they crossed the threshold back into the sitting room, Draco turned to tell her something.

“The protections on your room re-set every time you leave it. I can’t go back in unless you repeat the invitation.” He thought she would either need or want the reassurance.

“Oh… I hadn’t given it a thought,” she protested, but he still wondered if she truly had. She was apparently curious, though, about the depth of security in the magic that controlled such access, as she did pose a question. “What if you needed to go in the room for something, like an emergency of some sort?”

“I can enter only if you’re not there. If you were in danger of some kind, the room would sense your implied invitation for aid, but if you really didn’t want me there, nothing would allow me past the doorway,” he assured her, feeling a little nauseous that she was so concerned over her safety with him.

He wondered if she sensed his unease - the sudden greenness of his complexion was probably a dead give-away – and his suspicion was confirmed when she attempted to placate his feelings with a reassurance of her own. “Oh, I’m sure there’ll be plenty of reasons that I would invite you in. Really, Draco, don’t be so paranoid. I trust you,” she said, her voice struggling to maintain a light and teasing tone. He wasn’t fooled, but he appreciated her effort.

As they crossed the sitting room to the “milord’s” suite, Draco invited Hermione to open the door. She looked at him inquisitively, wondering if the room held the same protections as hers did. He smiled benevolently, encouraging her with a subtle nod. When she placed her hand on the heavy brass knob, magic tingled once more, but there was no adverse effect.

“You are able to access any room in the house,” he told her. “You have free reign without any restrictions.”

“Oh, uh, thank you.”

“Don’t thank me; thank my parents,” he offered with a grin and shrug. “While I can live here, I’m not the property’s ‘master’ in any legal sense.” He laughed shortly as he recalled a childhood memory.

“What?” she probed, her tone amused and curious.

“I just remembered something that my parents used to do when I was little.” His old smirk was firmly evident.

“Oh?” Since he’d been cagey about it, now she was dying to know.

“When they wanted some, uh, undisturbed ‘private time,’ they’d extend milady’s charm to the sitting room door. Got knocked on my arse more than once,” he chuckled, reddening again.

She laughed aloud, as much at the mental picture as at his frequent flushing. Tactile person that she’d always been, she reached out and grasped his forearm in her mirth.

He tensed slightly, but smiled and patted her hand where it rested. “Let’s?” he urged, lifting his hand to wave into the room.

She dropped her grip quickly and stepped into his new bedroom, noting immediately that it was as masculine as hers was feminine. Everything was black, grey, and white, sharp-edged and stark. The furniture was Asian black lacquer, polished to a high sheen. Why the bedrooms had not been draped in sheeting as had the rooms on the first floor was not evident. Most likely, there were charms in place because of the profusion of fabrics and pillows that would collect dust. Like the lady’s suite, the room featured a king-sized bed, which had a simple headboard and was covered in a thick black duvet, and white and grey silk pillows. A low black bench, its seat covered in white leather, sat at the bed’s foot. The ebony wood floor was covered by strategically placed grey area rugs: on either side of the bed, in front of the black leather settee which faced a substantial black granite fireplace, under the small writing desk settled between two tall windows, and at the entrance to both the walk-in closet and white marble bath.

The walls were covered with light grey moiré silk, making the room seem to shimmer in the afternoon sun. The woodwork was painted stark white, and sharply tailored black drapes topped white silk sheer curtains.

“Wow,” Hermione said. “Very… posh.”

“I’ve actually only been in this room a couple of times, but I’ve always liked it. Very posh, but also quite macho,” he laughed. “My father didn’t use it very often,” he whispered conspiratorially, daring to wink at her.

She took no offense and laughed, playfully smacking him on the shoulder for his cheekiness. “Despite their external reserve, your parents really do love each other,” she noted.

“Yes, they do.” He cleared his throat. “They are… passionate about the people and things that are important to them, and that certainly includes each other. It seems clear that you and Louisa have been added to their fold.”

Hermione hesitated a moment before responding to his comment. “You know how much they cherish you, don’t you?”

“Of course. I must admit that it’s a bit… different to be sharing their affections with others. It was always only the three of us until you and Louisa came along.” He shrugged, frustrated in his inability to articulate what he was thinking and feeling.

Hermione sat on the bench at the foot of the bed and patted the spot beside her, inviting him to sit. She twisted a bit, tucked one leg underneath the other, and rested her knee on the cool leather surface. She faced him and, for once, met his eyes very deliberately. “Love is never divided, Draco. It can only be multiplied. I never understood that until I had Louisa. Your parents have shown their great capacity for it when they welcomed the two of us into the family. When I saw you with Louisa yesterday, I could tell how much you were affected by meeting her and knowing that she’s your daughter. You and I know better than anyone that she wasn’t conceived in a way either of us would have preferred, but I refuse to allow you to feel any blame or remorse for that, Draco. Let yourself love her for what and who she is: your own flesh and blood, and a sweet, loving, whip-smart child. Please, I beg you, don’t look at her and see your mistakes, because we both know they were not your fault. Cherish her as much as she’ll cherish having her Papa home with her now. You need each other, and I need you, too. I need you to embrace her fully so that she won’t feel the awkward tension between us, so she won’t wonder about strain between her Mum and Papa. For her sake, let’s figure out how we can be at peace with each other, because I’m not sure I’m strong enough to carry all three of us.”

Draco felt his face heat with embarrassment. Listening to her speak, he further understood why he loved this woman and was so desperately drawn to her, and recognized how little he deserved to have her even as his friend. Still, it seemed as though she might have misinterpreted what he was saying. “I said ‘different,’ Hermione, not difficult. I’ve never felt my heart swell as much as the moment I held Louisa for the first time yesterday. Even the moment I saw her in front of the apothecary, I knew that she would completely change my life for the better. Here’s the thing - I know that I have her in my life now, and I want more. I want the family that my parents had, a partner in my life, another child, even.”

He saw the anxiety fill her eyes and knew he needed to back off – do a little damage control. “I also know that those things aren’t likely to happen, certainly any time soon. But that’s the man I want to be, whatever I have to do and however long it takes me to get there. I can promise you this: I’ll spend the rest of my life working to make myself worthy of that kind of life, whether or not I actually achieve it.”

Hermione’s gaze had drifted to the hands she’d clasped in her lap. He was so earnest and sounded so sincere.

Draco touched her chin with a finger, dragging her attention back to him. “Please, Hermione, will you help me learn to be a good father to her? Will you allow me to be a friend and supporter for you? I promise I won’t fail you, at least never intentionally. Give me a chance?”

She hadn’t realized when it happened, but her eyes had filled with tears, hearing his heartfelt plea. This man was a completely different person from what she’d expected him to be. It was risky, without a doubt, but maybe it would be worth it to really get to know him, really allow him to be a friend. After all, they would be sharing time and space for years in their mutual responsibility to raise Louisa. She felt oddly compelled and leaned her cheek into the hand that hadn’t left her face. She whispered her answer. “I promise; I’ll try.”


	18. Respite

Draco Malfoy reached two conclusions as he stepped into his tepid shower: first, much like the dead of winter, late summer in New England was not for the faint of heart or constitution, and second, learning was a balm for his oft-weary soul. It was hot and humid, and he’d been dripping with sweat by the time he made it home from work. He took comfort in the degree of satisfaction he felt in a job well done. When he’d first taken on his new job in the kitchen, the work had been difficult and sometimes confusing. Even his substantial skill in managing potion ingredients and understanding how to halve or double those concoctions had only been of limited help when applied to the world of food.

What had been helpful in his dramatic learning curve was the diligence he’d once applied to his studies at Hogwarts. Prior to the horrors that had begun in his fifth year, Draco had been an outstanding student, earning top marks in nearly every subject and easily ranking in the top five among his year-mates. The sharp mind and disciplined habits that had once been his key to academic success were now being called upon to help him build a new life for himself. In that, he found comfort and familiarity amidst all the new details and techniques.

As he rinsed the soap and shampoo from his body, stretching tired shoulder and neck muscles in the process, he thought about the conversations he’d had with his immediate boss, Head Chef Marcel Janeford, a few weeks earlier and with the restaurant’s owner, Bob Goutro, just a day or two earlier than that. The “confessions” had been easier than he’d feared they’d be, but he also recognized that he still kept several secrets. Dr. Kate’s advice about his right to his own privacy had made his little white lies just a tiny bit easier to live with.

Both men had been accepting and unsurprised when he’d finally confessed his wizarding heritage, and had not questioned his explanation of a fiancée back home when he’d told them of his old family, pureblood background. Draco had sensed slightly greater skepticism when he’d said that the reason for his long stay in America was to build his independence and self-sufficiency. He had known that this was the weak spot in his narrative, but neither man had pressed him for more information. He felt reasonably secure that they wouldn’t seek out additional background, and was grateful that his explanations had been enough to forestall Bob’s constant match-making activity.

His simple - in hindsight - concession to their interest in his private life had eased the pressure tremendously, and Draco had been better able to focus the considerable attention that was needed as he learned. It seemed that the act of trusting them had had the unexpected benefit of easing any concerns his bosses may have had about the quiet, sometimes maudlin young man.

This led to more trust being given to him, and Draco felt some of the pressures around his new role ease marginally. Chef Marcel was no less demanding, and the workload had, if anything, increased, but the wariness and hesitancy was quickly lifting. The most obvious evidence was the Head Chef’s now-constant teasing – good-natured though it was – about Draco’s tendency to require perfection of himself to an even greater degree than his supervisor expected.

For the moment, though, Draco’s biggest concern was getting to his appointment with Dr. David on time. An unusual late afternoon rush had put him behind schedule by at least an hour, and he’d barely had enough time to wash away the day’s grime. Dinner would need to wait until after his appointment. He quickly dried off, finger-combed his hair, and dressed in dark blue denims and a white tee shirt. Five minutes later, he exited the Floo in the Healer’s waiting room and checked in with Hillary, the receptionist. Two minutes later, David Roy invited him to enter his office.

“Good evening, Draco,” he greeted. “How’re things?”

Draco smiled pleasantly and returned the Healer’s salutation. “I’m well, Doc. And you?”

“Terrific, thanks. Have a seat.” David selected the chair opposite Draco’s and flipped open the thick folder that rested on the glass table between them. “I thought we’d spend some time this week exploring some of your self-perception beliefs. First, I’d like you to select three words that you think describe you, as a person, accurately.”

Draco hesitated and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I don’t know quite what to say to that, Doc. That’s a pretty broad question.”

“I know. And I don’t want you to over-think it. Just tell me the first three words that come to mind as you think of your sense of who you are.”

“Okay. Uh, I guess I’d say… diligent, um, focused, and… damaged.”

The Healer wrote the three words in his folder and looked up at his patient. “We’ll come back to that in a minute. Now, I want you to tell me three words that you think someone else would use to describe you.”

“What kind of someone?” Draco pressed for clarification.

“Doesn’t matter. Friend, family member, colleague…” David allowed his voice to trail off, indicating the openness of his query.

Draco blew out a breath. “Wow. I don’t know. I guess I’d have to say private, quiet, and maybe… observant.”

David scribbled once more in his notes and peered back at his patient. “What parallels or differences do you see between the three words you chose for yourself and the three you chose to describe how others see you?”

The young wizard scraped a hand through his hair and slumped in the chair, adopting a posture that he knew his mother would abhor for its undignified sprawl. “I’ve no idea.”

“Sure, you do,” the therapist challenged.

Now his hands scrubbed across his cheeks, rasping slightly against the faint blond stubble that had grown since early morning. “Solitude,” he answered quietly.

“And what does solitude do for you?” Dr. Roy persisted.

“Safety.”

“Say more about that,” he encouraged.

“I don’t worry about hurting anyone or being hurt by anyone when I’m alone.”

“Who would you hurt?”

“No one, at least not intentionally.”

“Then why are you worried about that?”

“The potential for it, because of my past.”

“What makes you think that behavior would happen again?”

Draco shrugged in response. “No special reason.”

“Then, again, why are you worried?”

“If it was so easy to manipulate me once, someone could do it again,” Draco reasoned.

“Who are you protecting?”

“Everyone. Myself.”

“Because…” David prompted.

“Because I don’t want to feel that way again.”

“Feel what way?”

“Used. Out of control. Guilty.” He gulped audibly. “Evil.”

“You said ‘again.’ That implies that you don’t feel that way right now. Is that true?”

“Well, yes. But I guess it’s still close enough that it’s very easy to connect to.”

“So you’re protecting yourself by staying isolated from others?” David summarized.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

David paused, and after a moment rose from his seat to retrieve something from his desk drawer, stowing the item in his pocket before returning to his chair beside Draco.

“What does it take to build trust?” he asked the young man.

“Time, faithfulness, maybe actions that earn someone’s belief in you.”

“So, if I were to say that I’m going to trust you, what would that mean to you?”

“It would mean that you expect that I wouldn’t fail you, in whatever way it was that you trusted me. That your expectation is that I would carry through on whatever I’d promised.”

“When have I shown you trust?”

Draco was dumbstruck for a moment. “Oh, geez,” he said, realizing the deep faith the doctor and his wife had shown in him for months, placing their children in his care.

“Okay, so you get that, right?” David’s eyes brightened when he saw Draco’s realization further acknowledged with a nod. “How about I show you another level of trust? Here, take this.”

He removed a slim black pen from his pocket and handed it to Draco. “This pen belonged to my late father. You may recognize it in that I use it rather frequently. It was one of his most precious possessions because it was a gift from his own father when he graduated from medical school. He passed it on to me when I finished my degree.”

Draco turned the item over in his hand and removed the cap of the fountain pen he’d certainly seen his therapist use time and time again. It had a fine gold-clad nib and was etched with the name “Montblanc.” He looked up at the elder man. “I don’t understand.”

“I want you to borrow it for a while.”

“Why?”

“Because I want you to have another lesson in trust.”

Draco shook his head. “I couldn’t, and besides, how much greater trust can you show me than allowing me to care for the boys?”

“The lesson is not about _my_ trust in you, although that’s certainly implied. It’s about _your_ trust in you.”

“I…”

“Draco, trust yourself with this. And you must not just lock it in a drawer somewhere. I want you to carry it with you.”

The younger man hesitated another brief moment, tossing around in his head the idea of trusting himself layered over his own observations of the new levels of trust that had been developed so recently at his workplace. Finally, he reached out to accept the object from his therapist’s outstretched hand. “Thank you,” he offered quietly, still unsure about what this new lesson would mean to him.

David just waved a hand carelessly in response. They spoke for several more minutes about Draco’s recent interactions with colleagues, recurring dreams, and progress he’d made on several homework assignments that the doctor had recommended. Finally, sitting back in his chair, the doctor adopted a pleasant smile and changed the topic drastically. “So, I don’t know about you, but I’m positively famished. We’re just about done here; how would you like to join us at the house for some steaks on the grill?”

Draco smiled with embarrassment. “Was my stomach growling that loudly?”

“Uh, yeah,” David replied with a broad grin. “I take it you didn’t have time to have dinner before you arrived this evening.”

“No, I didn’t. Work ran a little late today, so I barely had time to shower and change.”

“Well, get your butt off the chair. I’m sure Kate already has potatoes baking and salad tossed.”

“But, she’s not expecting an extra…” Draco began.

“Don’t worry about it. She always cooks as though there are six of us for dinner. Has something to do with growing up in a big family, I think,” he explained, stowing his folder of notes in the top drawer of his desk and grabbing his jacket from a hook on the back of the door.

“If you’re sure…”

“I am. Get a move on, kid.”

After dismissing Hillary for the evening and locking up the building, Healer Roy led Draco into the Floo for the quick trip back to the Roys’ home. The boys’ greeting for Draco was only marginally less enthusiastic than the one for their dad, and Kate smiled warmly at the young man when her husband informed her that there would be one more for dinner.

Daryl’s shout of “Hooray!” was followed by Thomas’ more reserved smiling nod. Draco responded by returning the “high five” offered by each of the boys.

“What can I do to help?” Draco asked Kate.

“Oh, nothing. I think everything’s pretty well under control. Maybe just add a place setting to the table on the patio,” she amended.

Draco’s easy familiarity with the Roys’ kitchen meant that he’d found the appropriate plates and dinnerware practically before she’d finished speaking. “I’ll just go put these outside, then. Anything else I can carry out?”

“Don’t think so. All the necessary condiments are in a cooler near the table, I’ve got the salad here, and David just brought the steaks out, so I think we’re all set.”

A few moments later, Draco saw what David had meant when he’d mentioned that Kate always had enough for guests. The salad was enormous, there were three extra baked potatoes on the grill, and two more sirloin steaks than there were people at the table. He wasn’t the only one who noticed.

“Mommy, can you cut up some steak for me to take when I go to the playground tomorrow?” Daryl requested.

“Sure, honey. You mean like the sandwiches I’ve made before?” she asked.

“Yeah. If there’s enough, can you make two?”

“You’re planning on being hungry?” she wondered.

“No, Mommy. I want to share it with Jeremy,” the child replied.

The parents shared a look. “Who’s Jeremy, sweetie?” David prodded.

“He’s a friend of mine who comes to the park almost every day.”

“Does he forget to bring his lunch?” Draco asked.

“I don’t know. I just noticed that he doesn’t have food to eat when the rest of us are having lunch,” Daryl noted. “I think his family might be a little bit poor.”

“Why do you think that, Daryl?” Kate probed.

“Because sometimes his clothes don’t fit him very good, and his shoes are all messy.”

“Very well, Daryl,” his mother corrected absently, pausing a moment as she considered what else she needed to know. “Does Jeremy have any brothers or sisters?”

Daryl nodded. “He has a sister who’s just a little older, and a younger brother.”

“Do they come to the park with him?” she asked.

“Not always, but sometimes.”

“Do they bring lunches with them when they come?” Draco picked up the line of questions.

“Unh uh. They kind of walk away when the rest of us are eating.”

“How about if I come to the park on my lunch break tomorrow? I’ll bring a couple of extra sandwiches, so there’s enough for everybody,” Kate offered.

“That would be nice, Mommy,” Daryl replied appreciatively.

Draco had gone quiet, listening to the apparent plight of the three children who didn’t have enough to eat. While his own circumstances had markedly improved, he remembered his early days in Salem when his own meals had been meager and somewhat irregular. He felt heartbroken that such little children had to suffer that pain.

He finished his meal, helped clear the dishes, gave his grateful thanks for having been included in the family’s dinner, and after reading a brief story to the boys, left the Roys’ home, excusing his relatively early departure with the five o’clock wake-up call that would precede his breakfast shift at the Grapevine.

When Draco arrived at the restaurant at half five the next morning to begin preparations for weekend brunch service, he was quiet, as was typical, but more distracted than usual, and after having asked for shredded Swiss cheese twice, Chef Marcel couldn’t help but wonder what was troubling his young protégé.

“You’re in a mood this morning, Draco,” he observed.

“Hmm?”

“What’s got your panties in a wad today?” the chef teased.

“Oh, sorry. I guess I am a little preoccupied this morning,” he confessed.

“So, spill it. If you don’t talk about it, you’ll be handing me tomatoes when I ask for peppers.” Marcel’s tone was a little gruff, but he wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t care. He also knew that Draco would recognize that fact.

Draco sighed heavily, knowing that his boss wouldn’t give up until he had an answer. “I had dinner with some friends last night, and one of their kids mentioned something that really bothered me.”

“What was that?”

“He was talking about a local family that was apparently struggling to feed their children, and asked his mother to give their leftovers to him so that he could take them to the playground so his friends could have something to eat for lunch,” Draco explained, briefly recounting the exchange that had troubled him.

Chef Marcel watched the young man intently. “Well, there are lots of people who don’t have enough of one thing or another, Draco. But you’re perceptive enough to know that. Why does this bother you so much?”

He shrugged, but there was an answer under the surface. Draco had been thinking about this all night, and was torn between what he thought might be a helpful, productive idea, and what he feared would be a dismissive reaction.

“Spill, kid. We don’t have all morning. Customers will start showing up in an hour, you know.”

“I was thinking about how much food we waste and throw out here. And thinking that it might be able to feed some hungry children,” Draco added, trying to add a note of hopefulness to his voice.

“Hunh,” the chef replied, resisting the urge to run a hand through his hair in frustration or embarrassment – he wasn’t sure which. “What do you propose we do about it?”

Draco paused, allowing the question and its obvious answer to percolate in his brain for a moment before he blurted it out. “What if we were to use some of the food that we’d throw out because it’s not usable for the next day’s restaurant meals to offer a free meal to kids in need?”

The chef stroked his chin thoughtfully for a few moments. “Well, I’m not opposed to the idea, but there’s a lot of homework to do before we could commit to something like that.”

“Such as?” Draco wondered.

“First, you’d have to get Bob’s approval before we could even look at anything else. Then, you’d have to check on regulations for providing public meals, particularly as they relate to anyone under age. And you’d have to think about venues, and donation practices, and I’m sure there’re two or three other things, not to mention who would be preparing and serving these meals and how we would find and include the people who need it most.”

“It’s not simple, I guess,” Draco observed.

“Nope. But if you’re willing to do the legwork on finding out what needs to be done – and getting Bob’s approval before you do anything else – well, you can count me in, kid.”

“Thanks, Chef. I’ll get to work on it later today.” Draco smiled broadly. He had a mission.

*******************************

It was the third Saturday of the month, which meant that Hermione would be hosting a small gathering in the yellow drawing room at Malfoy Manor for a half-dozen or so of her closest friends. Narcissa had adamantly and unceasingly insisted that she needed to do something for fun beyond playing with her undoubtedly darling daughter. “A young woman,” she’d said, “must have some frivolity and companionship in her life. Thus, your friends will receive an invitation to join you here at the manor once each month for dinner and drinks. Don’t argue with me, missy!”

Hermione laughed every time she recalled the conversation. Narcissa had sounded so much like her own mother when she’d set her mind to something. Most of the time, that was a comfort. Once in a while, it made her miss her mother that much more.

The group, nearly all former Gryffindors with the exceptions of Ravenclaw Luna Potter and Hufflepuff Hannah Longbottom (nee Abbott), arrived en masse at seven o’clock, all clearly in high spirits and looking forward to an evening of fun.

Hermione had instructed the house-elves on the fine Muggle cuisine of pizza, and had requested that Lucius add pale and dark ales to his regular order of libations. The aroma of baking dough, rich tomato sauce and fresh mozzarella was unmistakable to anyone who’d ever indulged in the treat. (The ten varieties of topping, though fairly traditional in their composition, were probably a bit of overkill for the relatively small group, she noted.)

Harry had figured out how to charm his portable CD player to broadcast sound over the wizarding wireless, so lively rock music was pulsing in the relatively cozy room. 

Hermione, who’d brought Louisa down to say “goodnight” to everyone, was dancing with the tiny child in her arms, whose giggles were so loud and infectious that the music was nearly drowned out. In the span of about twelve minutes and three songs, the little one had been passed from person to person until she’d “danced” with just about everyone in the room. She ended up in the arms of her godfather, and Neville, humming the tune to Springsteen’s “Born to Run,” offered to bring the little girl up to her bed while Hermione was occupied with instructing the house-elves on how to properly cut the round pizzas into wedge-shaped slices. After a final round of goodnight kisses for the tot, Neville headed out of the drawing room and up the stairs toward Louisa’s nursery.

As he approached the double doors, another suite’s entryway was breached by a slim figure, who ducked away as the godfather and his charge disappeared into the girl’s room. Neville’s slightly off-key humming could still be heard as he tucked the child into her bed, covering her with a light sheet and ensuring that her favorite stuffed unicorn was in reach.

Narcissa’s shoulders were rigid and she breathed deeply in an effort to calm her roiling emotions.

“What’s wrong, Cissy?” Lucius inquired from his comfortable spot on the settee, a short glass of Firewhisky, neat, swirling in his fingertips.

“It should be Draco,” she whispered, though her tone was anything but soft. When she finally turned to face her husband, the tears gathering in her eyes were unmistakable.

Lucius sighed. “Stop torturing yourself, Cissy. There’s nothing we can do about it.” The edge in his own voice was also evident.

“But…”

He rose from his seat and was swiftly beside her, grasping her by the shoulders tightly. “The sad truth here is that Miss Granger holds all the cards. I let myself get manipulated into this agreement by a woman less than half my age, and a Gryffindor, yet. But if we show our displeasure with the situation, she’ll become even more entrenched in her position. Be angry with me if you like, because I wasn’t smart enough to out-maneuver her. Some Slytherin I am,” Lucius groused.

Narcissa’s posture deflated and she dipped her head submissively. “I know that you’re right. I’m just so… frustrated and irritated and… ticked off. If I weren’t so fond of her, I’d want to hex her six ways to Sunday.”

“I understand, chou, but the bottom line is that, regardless of how unpalatable it is, we did make the agreement. Unless and until we can sway her thinking, I fear we’ve no choice but to live with it, including having to watch another young man put our son’s daughter to bed.”

“She’s so stubborn!” Narcissa complained, and Lucius was surprised that her words hadn’t been accompanied by a stomp of her foot.

“Her persistence does get under my skin at times, but it was also partly what drove her to keep the child and to help our son. For that, I won’t fault her. “

“I try to be so kind to her, to help her. I know she misses her mother, especially now that she has a child of her own, and I’ve done my best to try to fill some of that void. Does she see that we really do want her to be part of our family? Have we been too subtle?” Narcissa wondered.

“It’s not in our nature to be as… bold in our expressions of affection as others might be. I’m sure she knows us well enough to understand that our natural reserve does not mean that we care any less for her,” Lucius postulated.

“I’m not so sure that’s the case. She’s talked about how warm and affectionate her parents were, and her friends are no less so. I’m not saying that we should spend all day hugging her or professing our undying affection; I just think that maybe we need to be slightly more… demonstrative, in ways that are still consistent with our personalities. Maybe that would allow her to relax a bit more with us, and be more open to a stronger bond.”

“Not to mention how that would beneficially impact our long-term plans,” he acknowledged, referencing the decree he’d engineered weeks earlier.

“Quite so,” Narcissa affirmed. “But that’s only part of the reason. I do want to her feel completely comfortable with us. We are her family now. Her friends serve an important role and purpose, but when all else is said, she needs to know that we are the ones upon whom she can rely.”

Lucius looked into his wife’s eyes, measuring the conviction he saw there against the degree to which he could, with minimal discomfort, shift his behavior. There was no contest; Narcissa’s will was as steely as the color of his eyes. His reply was a long, breathy sigh.

“Oh, Lucius, how is it any different from the way you treat Louisa? You’re positively mushy with her. I’m just asking that you allow your genuine feelings for Hermione to show.”

“And I suppose that means smiling at her and giving her compliments?” he surmised.

“Is that so horrible a fate?” Narcissa teased.

“No, I suppose it isn’t.” He breathed another deep sigh. “I must confess that I get a little charge from teasing her. Maybe I could show her more plainly that it really is in jest, and not meant to be a true barb.”

“Now, that’s the spirit!” Narcissa encouraged. “I do think she knows your penchant for needling her, and accepts it as your form of affection, but I’m sure she’ll appreciate any warmth and consideration you show to her, and may be more amenable to changing her mind about sharing the news with Draco.”

“I still think you’re being unrealistically optimistic about that, but I suppose it couldn’t hurt. I’ll do my best, dear,” Lucius promised, noting the increased noise level from the gathering in the room below them as more lively tunes apparently played. “Sounds like they’re having a good time,” he observed.

“As well they should. It almost makes me want to join them,” she mused. “Remember how much fun we used to have when we were first married? How often we’d go out to dance with our friends?”

“Narcissa, I fear you are romanticizing. We’ve never had the kind of friends that Miss Granger has. We had acquaintances and associates,” he observed.

“That may have been true for you, Lucius, but I had, and still have, a handful of friends with whom I could really let myself relax. That’s what I’ve wanted for Hermione through organizing her monthly gatherings. Everyone needs other people with whom to connect. I just want to be sure that she counts us among those people.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

While most of her guests were having a grand old time laughing, dancing, drinking, and generally being a little silly, Hermione was tucked into a corner with Ginny Weasley, a Muffliato charm blocking out the bulk of the noise from the larger group.

“So you haven’t changed your mind about telling Malfoy?” Ginny pressed.

Hermione shook her head vigorously. “No, and I can promise you that I won’t, for the foreseeable future.”

Ginny sighed with exasperation. “I honestly don’t understand this, Hermione. He really should be sharing your burden in this, and I think he also has a right to know.”

Hermione pursed her lips, fighting the urge to tell her friend to butt out. “The more I learn in my Healing classes, the more convinced I am that this is the right thing to do. If theory is correct, he’s at a fragile point right now, and I won’t contribute to anything that could cause him to relapse. Even if he’s made good progress, as his parents seem to indicate, his recovery is very delicate. He doesn’t need additional pressures.”

“But it’s okay for you to take it all on your own shoulders,” Ginny accused.

“I’m not!” she retorted. “Narcissa and Lucius do more than their share. They’ve been incredibly good to me and the baby, and not just in material ways. I can’t tell you how truly supportive they’ve been.”

“Are they still urging you to change your mind?”

Hermione stared at the hands clasped in her lap. “Not as blatantly as they did in the beginning, but there’s no doubt that they’d prefer that Draco know. “

“If you had told me two years ago that I’d be siding with the Malfoys on something, I’d have had you committed,” Ginny noted with a grin.

“True, but your reasoning is very different.”

“No doubt about that,” Ginny recognized. “It’s clear that they are decent people, Hermione, and I’m glad they’ve been good to you. They certainly have been much more welcoming to my family than I ever thought possible. But it’s also clear that their stake in this is drastically different than that of your friends.”

“I know, and I’m sure that the great bulk of their concern is because they don’t want to see Draco suffer for a minute more than he already has. And that’s my argument, too. I sincerely believe that it’s too soon for him to hear news this shocking and shattering. While they haven’t said an awful lot about his treatment, what they have told me makes it clear that his biggest issues are with guilt. I can’t fathom that this wouldn’t create another layer of responsibility that could push him over the edge.” She shook her head defiantly. “I absolutely will not do that to him.”

“What about you? Who’s looking out for you?” Ginny prodded.

“I have plenty of people who look out for me, including me, thank you very much. I’m a big girl, Ginny, and I’ve got good support systems in place, especially you and everyone else in this room. I’ve also learned a lot in the course of my studies, and I think my initial motivation in finding ways to help people like Draco has done as much to help me understand my own needs and concerns. And honestly, I can’t tell you how much Narcissa has helped me. Whenever I’m missing my mum, she seems to be right there for me. It’s uncanny, sometimes. I don’t know that she really understands just how much that means to me, or how much I’ve come to think of her as a mother to me.”

As the two former Gryffindors continued to debate the merits of sharing Louisa’s existence with her father, in a room four doors away, a wave of magic was absorbed into a piece of parchment, concealed within a hidden compartment behind a portrait of a six-year-old Draco Malfoy. If anyone had been in the room, they would have seen a bright flash of blue light, and an intricate pattern of runes appear on the parchment, indicating that one of three conditions had been met.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco’s most recent appointment with Dr. Kate had been among the least stressful he’d had with her until its last five minutes. He was still wondering how she’d managed to wring such a concession out of him without blood being drawn. Their discussion to that point had been an extension of their on-going work in dealing with the concept of how his dreams affected sexual guilt and normal arousal.

_One Week Ago…_

“Draco, I’d like to spend a little time today talking about your dreams over the last few weeks. Tell me what you’ve noticed as themes or repetition,” Dr. Kate encouraged.

The young man shrugged. “They haven’t been all that different lately, except maybe some of them are a little less blatantly sexual.”

“Do they still relate to Miss Granger?” the Healer probed.

“Oh, yes. But it’s just as likely that we’re walking along a beach or sharing a meal as it is that there’s some kind of sexual component,” he explained.

“Why do you think that’s so?” she asked, hoping he’d instinctively understand the shift that was happening in his psyche.

Draco paused for a long moment, his brow furrowed in thought and concentration. “I kind of wondered about that. I don’t see any obvious reason for it, but it feels more… balanced to me. I feel less anxious about them.”

Kate smiled broadly. While he hadn’t hit the nail on the head, he’d certainly picked up the right hammer for the job. “You used the word ‘balanced’ to describe how your dreams felt, and you’re definitely on the right track. You’ve found a greater equilibrium in your dreams because you’ve put parts of your life in better balance. Think about it – you’ve had success in your job, you’ve stopped having nightmares, you’ve begun to set aside some of the guilt over what you were forced to do, and you’ve learned that self-denial is unhealthy and counter-productive. I’d venture to say that your guilt over sexual self-gratification has dramatically diminished. What’s your reaction to that summary?”

Draco’s head dipped, but there was a ghost of a smile on his face. “I’d say it feels like it rings true. I know I feel a whole lot less stress than I did six months ago.”

“Then I think it’s time to push your comfort zone again,” she announced.

His answering groan prompted a chuckle and a tap on the top of his head with the notepad on which she’d been scratching her observations. He grinned in response at her teasing.

“So what buttons are you planning to push this time, Doc?” he wondered.

“Companionship,” she stated, pausing for a moment when Draco opened his mouth to lodge a protest and stalling any outburst with a raised hand. “Hear me out before you go off the rails.”

“Fine, but I’ll bet my last Galleon that I’m not going to like it,” he grumbled.

“You’ve said that about nearly every therapy protocol we’ve introduced, Draco, and I’d venture to say that you’ve changed your mind about at least a couple of them,” she needled, arching a dark eyebrow at him.

The blush that crept from his neck to the top of his forehead in a matter of seconds was sufficient answer. “Fine,” he mumbled. “What is it this time?”

“Look, I won’t be cruel here, and I’m not going to ask you to do something to which you are so adamantly opposed. In most cases, the appropriate next move would be to encourage you to actually ask someone out on a date, but eliminating that as a possibility, I’m going to ask you to participate in a purely friendly group outing of some sort.”

Draco sighed lightly, but relented relatively quickly. “That’s a little easier to deal with, I guess. What are the rules?”

“You already have them. A group outing, friends, acquaintances, colleagues, and that’s really about it. I would ideally like to see the group be a mix of men and women.”

“And I take it that I need to initiate this?” he guessed.

“Unless someone else manages to invite you to something in the next week,” she confirmed.

“By next week?” he asked incredulously, eyes gone wide in surprise.

“No time like the present!” she chirped brightly. “Besides, it doesn’t need to be an especially large group, nor does it need to be anything elaborate. Four or five people for a drink after work is perfectly sufficient,” she elucidated.

Draco swallowed. “Fine,” he ground out. He crossed his arms over his chest, frowning slightly.

Dr. Kate sniggered. “Trust me, Draco. It won’t be that bad.”

“No, I’m sure it’ll be worse. This has ‘disaster’ written all over it,” he mumbled under his breath.

_Today…_

Draco was debating how to approach his recounting of the previous evening’s activity as he spoke with Dr. Kate - whether to gloat at his accurate prediction or be chagrined and disappointed that the night had been, at least in his estimation, an unmitigated disaster. He acknowledged with a wry grin that he’d probably do a little of both. He was waiting for her now, fidgeting nervously in the comfortable leather chair, while she refilled her coffee mug from the ever-present pot (another habit she shared with her husband) on the credenza behind her desk. He’d refused her offer of a mug, fearing that his shaking hands would give away his fear that her next assignment would be… somehow worse, though he couldn’t immediately imagine how that could possibly occur.

She smiled at him pleasantly as she reclaimed her own seat. “So? Homework recap, young Mister Malfoy. Tell me what happened,” she instructed.

“You know I adore you, Doc, but you have proved with this one that you are pure evil,” he accused, softening his mostly-facetious taunt with a smirking grin. A shuddering sigh prefaced his account. “Last night, I invited three people from the night shift to join me for a drink after the restaurant closed. There’s a little bar about two blocks from the Grapevine, and I thought it would be an easy choice.”

When he paused to take a sip of water from the bottle he’d carried with him, Kate asked for some clarification. “When you say ‘three people,’ are we talking about male people, female people, or a mix?”

“A mix. There were two blokes and one girl who joined me.” When she waved a hand to indicate that he should continue, he added a few details. “They’re all about my age, maybe a year or two younger at most, and are all students at Salem State University. They work at the Grapevine to earn money for tuition and expenses, apparently. The guys are both unattached, as far as I know, and the girl has a boyfriend that she started seeing about three months ago.”

“You seem to know quite a bit about these people. Would you call them friends?” the therapist asked.

“Not in the ‘pour your heart out and risk your life for them’ sense, but we’ve all worked together for several months. I guess I’d call them friendly acquaintances.”

“Still, you seem to have a pretty good command of their life circumstances.”

Draco shrugged. “I’m observant. I learn by watching and listening. I guess I picked it up along the way.”

“Fair enough. So you invited them, they accepted, and you went to the bar together,” she summarized. “What happened then?”

“Since it was a Thursday night, the bar wasn’t terribly busy, so we grabbed a table, ordered a few snacks, and a pitcher of beer. We sat around chatting about baseball, work things, and whatnot for about twenty minutes when a group of girls came in.”

Kate arched an eyebrow in question. “Then what?”

“Tony and Rafael apparently knew them from school and invited them to join us. It would have been rude to object, so I just… went with the flow.”

“That’s generally a good strategy in those circumstances. And?”

“Well, there were four of them, not including Melissa from work, and us three blokes. One of them latched on to Tony, another tagged Rafael, and the other two decided that I was their target.” Draco sighed deeply. “For uni students, these two were the most vapid, brainless twits I’ve ever had the misfortune to encounter. I suppose they weren’t horrid to look at, but I was thoroughly annoyed and disgusted by their behavior and their lack of decorum. You don’t hang all over someone you’ve just met five minutes before. It’s just not cricket!”

Kate was biting her lip, struggling mightily not to allow a laugh, chuckle, chortle, or snort to erupt. She breathed deeply to center herself, and asked another question, “What did you learn from the experience?”

“That I know why Hermione is so appealing to me. I find a girl with brains is far sexier than someone who throws herself at me. A girl with a heart as big as hers is always more attractive than someone who only cares about whether some bloke will have enough cash to buy her drinks all night.” Draco shook his head with resolve. “This is not for me. I’m not a ‘partying’ kind of guy. I think you know me well enough now to recognize that I’m a more serious, reserved person by nature. That doesn’t mean that I don’t want joy and fun in my life; it’s just that I find that in very different things. Honestly, I enjoy spending time with your boys more than I did that little gathering last night.”

“Well, my boys can be quite entertaining, but they aren’t the kind of friends who can support you in the way that your contemporaries could. We may just need to revise where and how we find those kinds of companions for you. I’d like to explore a couple of possibilities, and we’ll talk about it next time we meet.”

“I’m not opposed to meeting people, Doc. I just would prefer to find like-minded friends. I recognize that might be a challenge, but the truth is, I’d rather be entirely alone than spend one more night like last night.”


	19. Satisfaction

The next morning dawned cool and clear, quite typical for an early spring day, and the residents of Malfoy Manor had all gathered for breakfast in the solarium. Narcissa had orchestrated a rather elaborate buffet for a Friday morning, but had “pish-toshed” Lucius’ ribbing when he accused her of catering to their son’s stomach as a means to keep him close for a while longer.

“You forget, dear, that he’s quite capable of producing a fine meal for himself now,” she reminded him. “The food is not what would keep him here, but I’m hoping that the gathered family will have a more compelling effect.”

Lucius lifted an eyebrow in response. “I hardly think the company is less important than the food, no matter the circumstances.” He paused, then added in a stage whisper, “Do you know that I caught him sneaking into Louisa’s nursery last night?”

“Do tell,” Narcissa encouraged. “But hurry; they’ll be here any moment.”

“I was a little hungry after, well you know, and I didn’t want to disturb you, so I was heading down the hall to go ask one of the house-elves to bring a snack to my study. I saw him go into her room, but he closed the door before he could have seen me, I’m sure.”

“Do you know how long he stayed?” she wondered.

“Not exactly, but it was more than a few minutes. I, uh, walked quietly past the door again about a half-hour later and I could hear what sounded like humming.”

“You were tip-toeing in the hallways again, Lucius,” Narcissa accused with a grin, bright blue eyes dancing with amusement. “I’d love to catch you just once; the Pensieve memories would fetch me a fortune on the open market, should you ever decide to throw me over for a younger model.”

“Trust me, love, it’ll never happen. I’ve learned to ‘tip-toe’ with the best of them,” he replied, and although it contained a thinly-veiled reference to his formerly unsavory past, there was no darkness in his comment.

She twisted her lips again and nodded. “I’m quite sure you’re right, although at the moment, I’m eminently more interested in what Draco was doing.”

“When?” inquired a male voice entering the room.

“Ah, speak of the little devil,” Lucius murmured, peering over the reading glasses he’d donned as he grabbed the morning Prophet, as if to taunt his wife with his patented “can’t wait to see how you’ll finagle your way out of this one” look.

And she promptly threw him under the proverbial bus. “Your father was wandering the hallways last night and happened to see you entering Louisa’s bedroom. Was everything all right, dear?”

Draco settled into a chair and reached for the platter of scrambled eggs. Shrugging, he answered, “Nothing wrong. My body clock is still a bit off-kilter with the time difference and I couldn’t sleep. I just thought I’d… visit with her for a little while.”

Narcissa wrapped her hand around Draco’s and squeezed. “That’s lovely, dear. Nothing quite so soothing as watching a child sleep.”

“I’d have to agree. I sat in the rocking chair for a few minutes, watching her and humming a lullaby, and before I knew it, I was in the land of Nod. I think I probably slept there for a couple of hours before waking up with a crick in my neck. Then I went back to bed.”

“And you finally slept well?” Narcissa hoped aloud.

“I did, thank you,” he replied. His attention was immediately distracted by the arrival of his daughter and her mother. He couldn’t help the bright smile that appeared as the little girl bounded enthusiastically from her mother’s grasp into his lap.

“Hi Papa Drake!” she greeted at full volume, following it up with tiny arms flung around his neck and wet pink lips being plastered against his cheek.

Hermione chuckled at the animated display of affection. “Good morning, everyone,” she added, reaching out to remove her little girl from Draco’s embrace.

“She’s fine, Hermione. I enjoy a quick morning cuddle,” he replied, adding a quick kiss to Louisa’s cheek, causing the little one to giggle.

“She needs to eat her breakfast, and she’ll get it all over you,” Hermione warned.

“That’s what Scourgify is for,” Draco answered. “Besides, it’s a special occasion.”

“Oh? And what’s that?” Hermione asked, amused and curious.

“It’s a Friday - last day of the week before the weekend. Clearly, a very special day, no matter what else may occur,” Draco solemnly retorted. “And if memory serves, your half-day of work.” His reminder of their afternoon commitment was as unsubtle as it was unambiguous.

Hermione nodded as she sipped at the cup of Lady Grey tea to which she’d added a ridiculous amount of sugar. “Yes, and I haven’t forgotten our appointment. Just meet me at St. Mungo’s a little after one and we’ll be set to go.”

Lucius and Narcissa traded a look, each indicating to the other that they knew nothing of the pair’s plans for the afternoon. Narcissa decided to stick her nose in with an offer.

“Do you need me to look after Louisa for you, dear?” she inquired.

Hermione smiled pleasantly. “If you wouldn’t mind, that would be great. Draco and I are going to pick out some furniture.” She nodded her head at the child in her father’s arms, indicating for whom she was shopping while making it clear that she preferred not to be specific about their mission.

Lucius nodded his head sagely. “That’s fine. Just bill it to the household account,” he instructed.

Draco protested the intrusion. “I’ll handle this, Father.”

“I’m sure you’re perfectly able to do that, Son, but I’d already promised to finance any changes that needed to be made. I keep my promises,” he said pointedly, looking over his reading glasses at the younger man.

“As do I, Father. Please. This is important to me.”

Lucius sighed. “Very well, if you’re insistent.” He glanced again at his wife, twitching his lips in amusement for less than a second. She noticed.

“Thank you,” Draco replied with a sharp nod. He turned his attention back to Hermione. “I’ll be there no later than quarter after the hour.”

Hermione acknowledged his comment with a bob of her head as she finished a piece of wheat toast. After a sip of grapefruit juice, she rose from her seat. “If you’ll all excuse me, I have an early appointment with a new patient, so I need to dash off.”

She bent to kiss the squirming toddler in Draco’s arms, causing the young man a pang of angst that he couldn’t claim a kiss for himself. Instead, he hugged the child closer and kissed her. “Be a good girl for Papa and your grandparents, ‘tite chou. Mummy will see you this afternoon.”

Louisa giggled and tucked her face into Draco’s neck, blowing a raspberry against his skin. He laughed, and tickled her belly in return. “She’ll be perfect. Won’t you, princess?” he affirmed with the child.

“I is a special princess. Pépère says so,” Louisa announced, to a chorus of chuckles.

“That you are, my darling, that you are,” Narcissa agreed, extending her arms to take the girl from Draco. While he appeared reluctant to release her, Narcissa would not be denied. “She’s squirming. Time for potty.”

Draco relinquished his hold, turning the child over to her grandmother, and rose to his feet. Somehow, he found himself following Hermione’s trek out of the room and toward the Floo. As she struggled with her brief-bag, wand, and a light cloak, he reached in. “Here, let me,” he offered, taking the bag from her arms as she settled the cloak over her shoulders.

“Oh, thank you,” she mumbled, a little surprised first by his presence and then his chivalrous behavior. She accepted the leather bag from his hand and smiled tentatively. “I guess I’ll see you this afternoon, then.”

“Yes, I’ll meet you in the lobby. Have a good morning,” he offered, then stepped back as she activated the Floo and stepped in, calling out her destination.

He watched as she disappeared into the green flames and stood quietly, hands thrust into his pockets for a long moment after the roar of her departure had waned. Draco shook his head to clear the cobwebs and headed down the hall to the sweeping staircase that led to his suite. Taking the steps two at a time, he had nearly reached the top when he heard his father’s booming baritone calling his name. He halted and leaned over the railing to return a reply.

“Here, Father.”

“Ah, there you are. I’m heading to Diagon Alley this morning to run a few errands and I was wondering if you wanted to join me,” Lucius invited.

“While I’d love to accompany you, I have a couple of fixed appointments that I need to keep, and I don’t want to slow you down. Maybe next time,” Draco replied. He would have enjoyed some time with his father, but the younger man was not yet ready to reveal his broader plans to anyone, least of all the most meddling, if well-intentioned, father in the wizarding world.

“As you wish, then. I’ll be gone most of the morning and it sounds as though you and Hermione will be occupied for the afternoon, so I’ll see you at dinner.” Lucius nodded, turned on his heel, and entered his study to gather the paperwork he needed to take to his own meetings.

Draco climbed the remaining steps, feeling a twinge of uneasiness as he thought about what his father might be getting up to now, but set it aside to focus on his own mission. Since he had had little success on the previous day in learning about whatever twisted manipulations his parents had set into play (and little likelihood of discovering anything further immediately), he’d decided to focus for a few days on his own plans and had contacted an estate agent to look at potential sites for his project. There were three vacant properties in wizarding London that seemed to show some promise, and he would be inspecting each of them this morning. If all went well, he hoped to make a stop at Gringott’s to facilitate payment arrangements before meeting Hermione at St. Mungo’s. He smiled broadly at the thought of a day filled with promise and gathered his leather bag, wand and cloak. He galloped down the stairs and called for his mother as he neared the bottom.

“Mother! Where are you?”

He heard her muffled reply from behind the doors to her yellow drawing room. “We’re here, Draco.”

He pushed the door open carefully, being cautious in case Louisa was toddling around nearby, and saw the two blondes, one elegant and the other exuberant, holding hands and dancing to a silly tune that played on the music box which rested on a small cherry-wood table. He marveled at how his mother could still look so regal while grinning from ear to ear and making goofy faces at her granddaughter.

“I’m heading out to do some errands this morning, and I probably won’t be back until late this afternoon, Mother,” he announced.

“No! Papa Drake stay here with me today,” Louisa complained loudly.

Draco dropped his burdens on a nearby chair and swept the girl from the floor into his arms. “There’s nothing I would like better, my sweet. But Papa has business to take care of so that I can then take good care of you. I promise that we can spend all day together tomorrow, and maybe we can even convince Mummy to go on a little picnic with us. Would that be all right with you?” he offered, hoping that he’d made the idea sound enticing. He sweetened the pot with a big kiss to Louisa’s cheek and another promise. “If the weather is good, I’ll even take you on a pony ride.”

Draco looked up at his mother quickly, asking silently whether the stables were still operating. Her smiling nod told him that he could deliver on his vow, and he breathed a silent sigh of relief.

Louisa pouted a little while she deliberated over the offer her newly-found papa had made, and finally deciding that a pony ride with the tall, handsome man was too much to resist, she relented. “Well, okay, but only if Mummy rides the grey horsey. We ride the black one.”

Since she offered no further explanation, Draco again looked to his mother for confirmation that this was a good idea. She grinned, but there was a hint of mischief in it. That was enough for him to add a caveat.

“As long as Mummy approves, that’s fine. If she has a different idea, though, we’re going to have to take that into account,” he added, hoping it would be enough to manage the situation without create future toddler melt-downs and tantrums. The lip-biting that Narcissa was trying to hide did not bode well.

“You be a good girl for Mémère, and Mummy and Papa will see you for dinner tonight. Okay?” Draco said as he set the child on her feet, dropping a kiss on the top of her blonde curls. He gathered up his things and moved to kiss his mother’s cheek. “I expect that we’ll be back sometime around four or five, but we’ll Floo call if it will be any later than that.”

“No problem, love,” Narcissa replied. “Hermione can always call me on the mobile, anyway.”

Draco blinked. “Mobile? When did you get a mobile?”

“Oh,” she waved a hand in dismissal, “at least two years ago. Why?”

Draco shook his head with a smile. “I have to get one, then. Couldn’t afford it while I was in Salem, but all my co-workers had them. Handy little things, and a whole lot quicker than owls. Maybe I’ll try to do that this afternoon if I can sneak over to Muggle London for a bit. With an address in that section of town, I shouldn’t have any problems establishing an account.”

“Good idea, Draco. I’ll show you how to program it, if you like.” Narcissa smiled again, and Draco knew he was being teased over her advantage.

“I’ll welcome the help. Now, though, I need to get my arse in gear if I’m not to be late to my appointments. I’ll see you later.” With that, Draco strode out of the room and toward the main Floo that would connect him with the Leaky Cauldron, and the missions he’d set for the day.

\--_--

Four hours later, Draco Malfoy was feeling the effects of a massive headache, brought on by trying to crunch too many numbers mentally in the face of conflicting, confusing, or downright confounding information. The estate agent he’d met with had indeed showed him three properties, none of which had been ideal, to say the least, and only one of which might have been acceptable if it hadn’t been both too small – in fact the smallest of the three buildings – and ridiculously overpriced for the included amenities and less-than-desirable location. The fact that it would also need extensive renovation to meet Draco’s goals and needs, thus adding dramatically to the already excessive cost, made it that much less attractive. In a pinch, he could make it work, but he wasn’t so eager to begin his mission that he couldn’t wait for something a little closer to his vision to come available.

His one unqualified success of the morning had been in obtaining the mobile phone that he had stuffed into his leather bag. It would need to be charged and programmed with the handful of numbers that he’d be likely to call: Hermione, his mother, and… well, he didn’t know of anyone else who had one of these dandy devices. From what his mother had said, it seemed apparent that the electronics did, in fact, function in the wizarding world, although he didn’t know whether that meant there needed to be some minor modification made. If the thing worked “out of the box,” he imagined that a fair handful of the younger witches and wizards he once knew were probably carrying the shiny little devices in their robes. As he thought further about it, the items were rather ubiquitous in Salem, which was nearly as much a wizarding community as Hogsmeade, leading him to conclude that he’d not have any major troubles with the thing. Now if he only knew what an “icon” was, he’d be feeling much more comfortable about using it without blowing it up, at least in a figurative sense. He’d bet half the Galleons in his vault that Hermione could teach him how to use the phone in an hour, recalling with the tiniest shudder how many things she’d taught him in the span of a few days, three years earlier. Shaking off that thought forcefully, he mused that it might be another good excuse to spend additional time with her, as “pals” of course.

Since it was just one o’clock, and Draco was less than two blocks from his destination, he strolled slowly along the street, peering into shop windows and allowing his mouth to water slightly at the wonderful aromas wafting from the bakery, the café, and a little bistro that had apparently opened since the last time he’d visited the area. He hadn’t had time to stop for lunch, and was now regretting that fact. His stomach would growl for the next few hours if he didn’t do something to correct the situation. Thinking like a Slytherin, he decided that it probably wasn’t a bad thing after all. He smiled broadly as he pushed open the door and entered the lobby of St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, and took a seat to wait for Hermione.

Less than five minutes later, Healer Granger strode purposefully out of the lift and into the main lobby, searching the room for a familiar face. One glimpse of the back of Draco’s blond-haired head was the only thing she needed to pick him out from the crowd. She tapped him on the shoulder and he turned to greet her.

“Good afternoon, Hermione.”

“Hi, Draco,” she responded, sounding a little out of breath.

He smiled. “I hope you weren’t rushing. I don’t have anything else planned for the afternoon, so I could have waited if you needed to finish something up,” he offered.

“Oh, no, it’s just that if I don’t get out of here now, someone will invariably find me with something that they think is an emergency but is really just nonsense, or worse, paperwork. So I’d really just like to get going, if that’s all right with you,” she said.

“Not loving your work?” he wondered.

“Goodness, no. Nothing like that at all! I love what I do; it’s the accompanying, often unnecessary paperwork that drives me crazy,” she added.

Draco looked at her incredulously. “Really? Hermione Granger not liking writing reports? Well, knock me over with a feather.”

Hermione laughed at his comment. “I know, the biggest swot at Hogwarts hating reports is a little… out of character, I guess. It’s not so much the reports as the fact that I spend easily three times as many hours on that than I doing seeing actual patients, and that’s what I became a Mind Healer to do. That part can be a little frustrating.”

“I can understand that. As much of a bookworm as you always were, it was my impression that you were never reluctant to dive into the action, supported, of course, by the reams of research you’d already done,” he teased.

“Yes, well, the bottom line is that I want out of here, now!” she retorted with a slightly impatient shift of her body toward the door.

“Lead the way, Healer,” Draco said. As they exited onto the street, he touched her elbow lightly when she threatened to take off at full gallop. “Hey, before we go shopping, would you be interested in grabbing a quick bite to eat? I’m starving because my morning appointments ran long and I didn’t get a chance to stop,” he explained.

“Oh, that’s a marvelous idea! I barely even had breakfast this morning, so I’m pretty hungry too,” she admitted. “There’s a great little bistro about a block from here, in the opposite direction.”

“I saw it on the way over, I think,” Draco answered. “That’s fine by me.”

They reversed their direction and headed for the small bistro, arriving just as several couples and small parties departed. “Seems like we have good timing,” Draco observed.

“Lunch hour crowd heading back to work, I’d say,” Hermione agreed. She waited while Draco requested seating for two from the attendant at the door, who immediately escorted them to a linen-draped table near the large picture window that dominated the front façade.

“Thank you,” Hermione said as Draco held out the chair for her, waiting until she was settled to take the seat opposite her. Within moments, a waiter appeared – tall, dark-haired, and painfully skinny – inquiring about their choice of beverages as he gave them menus to review.

“Hermione?” Draco deferred. His nerves wanted nothing more than a tall ale to take the edge off, but he didn’t want to drink an alcoholic beverage if she had only a soft drink.

“I’d love a nice, crisp white wine. Do you have a pinot grigio?” she asked the waiter.

“Yes, we do. Would you prefer a glass, a carafe or a bottle?”

With a glance at Draco, who offered a smile and a nod, she indicated that a bottle and two glasses would do nicely.

After a quick exchange comparing the relative merits of various menu items, Hermione settled on a grilled chicken Caesar salad, and Draco on baked cod with chips. As the waiter (“I’m Eric, if you need anything”) left, Draco lifted his glass of wine. “To a productive afternoon, hopefully much more productive than my morning,” he proposed with a wry grin while managing to not sound like a whiner.

Predictably, Hermione could not let any curiosity go unexplored. “What happened, or didn’t, as the case may be, this morning?”

“I was looking for a property to buy and saw nothing close to what I needed,” he answered with a shrug.

“I thought you were going to stay at the townhouse for a while,” Hermione replied, her brow creased with confusion. “Have you changed your mind?”

“Oh, no! Not a property to live in, a property for a business venture,” Draco clarified. “I think I’ll probably stay in the townhouse at least until that gets off the ground. As long as that’s all right with you,” he added hurriedly.

“I wouldn’t object to you doing anything at all that you want to do, staying or leaving, Draco. You’re the only one who can decide what’s right for you. But, I do think it’s not a bad idea for you to be deliberate and take your time about all these decisions and changes. You have a lot of adjusting to do,” Hermione reminded him.

“You’re absolutely right, and that’s why I agreed to stay in the townhouse in the first place. It will allow me some time to find my balance again, and time to get to know Louisa, and you, so that we can coexist peacefully, at least.” Draco paused thoughtfully. He’d been very circumspect with her about what his plans were beyond moving into his new living arrangements, but this brilliant woman might be able to help guide him in his mission. He thought, too, that demonstrating his trust in her might help her to learn to trust him.

“The business venture I’m thinking about is a turning out to be a bit more complex than I anticipated,” he told her without further preamble.

“Really? That sounds like a challenge,” Hermione replied. “Tell me all about it.”

He paused for a moment, looking up as their waiter delivered their lunch order. “Thank you, Eric,” he said with a sincere smile. His attention turned back to Hermione, and Draco emphatically stated, “Waiters are hard-working blokes, let me tell you.”

“Oh, yes, you worked in a restaurant while you were in Salem. Your parents mentioned that you spent some time as a waiter before moving to the kitchens,” Hermione acknowledged. Her eyes widened for a moment and she reframed the question she’d asked a moment earlier. “This business venture you’re working on – does it have something to do with a restaurant?”

“You always were and always will be the brightest witch of the age, Miss Granger,” he replied with a grin. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m going to do, but my plan is, as I said, a little more, uh, complicated than that.”

“Do tell,” she urged, wondering what could be all that unusual about operating an eating establishment.

The look on Draco’s face was indecipherable. He seemed to be warring with exactly how to explain his goal. Finally, he set his fork on his plate and folded his hands in his lap. “I want to do something that combines my enjoyment of cooking, the basic business acumen that I learned from my father, and,” here he hesitated, “my desire to atone for the wrongs that I committed while under my aunt’s control. I learned a lot about being in need while I was away in Salem, and my restaurant absolutely must reflect those lessons. That’s why I’ll be operating it as a not-for-profit entity.”

Hermione’s eyes widened again at his pronouncement. “How? Why?” She was clearly confused about what this meant on a number of levels.

“It’s a long story, which started with providing meals for some hungry little ones who were friends with my therapists’ children. Suffice it to say, I saw an opportunity to help and I convinced the owner of the restaurant to work with me on providing food to hungry families in an on-going program. They are still doing it, and before I left, we were working with a handful of other restaurants to join in the effort. I’d like to replicate that here, at least in a small way.”

“Draco, that’s… I’m not quite sure what to say. I’m stunned at your incredible generosity,” she said quietly, peering at him intently.

He laughed shortly. “I know, who’d think that Draco Malfoy has a heart? Well, the last three years have been an incredible learning experience, on more levels than I can possibly count, and I’ve found that it makes me feel good to make other people feel good. You see, it’s all very selfish,” he professed in an off-hand manner, stabbing a chip with his fork with slightly more force than he’d intended. Believing that Hermione could think nothing but the worst of him, he was being a bit defensive.

“Please, Draco, I’m being completely sincere. This is a wonderful thing you’re doing, and I admire and commend you for it. If there’s anything at all that I can do to help, count me in. I mean it – anything,” she retorted, reaching for his hand and giving it a brief squeeze.

Draco swallowed heavily and glanced from the hand she’d held, for the briefest moment, to her soft hazel eyes. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I guess I just default to thinking you’ll believe the worst of me.”

“No, Draco. That’s not at all true. I can only imagine how hard you’ve worked in the last three years, but you must realize that I don’t think you are the same boy who left here so completely broken. I’m learning about the many new facets of who you are now, and you’ve done a lot that deserves my admiration and respect.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “It’s just that… I’m so impatient to achieve something that will help people to understand what’s really in my heart and soul. I’m not a monster; I want a real life.”

“And you’ll have it, Draco,” Hermione stated firmly. “Your actions today will prove the man you are and will ensure that people will quickly forget who you seemed to be so long ago.”

“Even you?” he challenged.

“Especially me. It seems clear that you are hell-bent to rip your soul bare for me to see,” she countered, but her tone was light and teasing. “Our circumstances seem to ensure that I’ll have a front-row seat at the reemergence of Draco Malfoy. And you seem to have forgotten that I was your first defender.”

“Oh Merlin, that’s something that I never have, and never will, forget. Nor will I ever completely understand it, but I guess that’s part of what makes you so intriguing to me,” Draco confessed.

“As I’ve told you before, it would have done me no good to hang on to anger or resentment for you. I knew on the day we left the cabin that I would never hate you, and that what happened between us was truly and completely not your fault. I don’t want to rehash this a million times, Draco, but you have to forgive yourself fully, because my forgiveness has been freely given. If we’re going to be friends, you have to let it go as much as I have. Now, eat your fish before it gets cold,” she scolded with a hint of a grin.

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered with a little salute.

“So,” she began, “are you going to tell me about this restaurant idea or not?”

\--_--

Forty minutes, one completed meal, and two cups of coffee later, Draco had outlined his basic idea and had shared his frustrations about the buildings and locations which had all failed to meet his needs or expectations. Hermione had listened thoughtfully and asked at least a hundred questions to gain a better understanding of both the practicalities and the motivations behind the young man’s mission. When they’d finally concluded with all the particulars, she set her coffee mug down on the table with a heavy thump.

“There’s no doubt you’ve got your work cut out for you, but it’s also clear that you’re determined and motivated. I have no question that you’ll succeed and help a lot of people in the process. There are still many families who were left financially devastated after the war, and you’ll be providing jobs along with your charitable aims. This is a good thing, Draco, and I repeat my promise. I’ll do whatever I can to help you get this off the ground.” Hermione’s eyes were bright with excitement and enthusiasm, and her smile seemed more genuine than it had since they’d been thrown back into each other’s presence such a short time ago.

“Thank you, Hermione. Other than you, I haven’t shared my plans with anyone other than my banker, so that I could be sure to figure out how to finance this project. I’d appreciate it if we could just keep it between us for the next several days until things are a little more settled. I’m not ready to go public, or to even share it with my parents just yet. Is that all right with you?”

“Of course. I’ll keep your confidence. Don’t hesitate to reach out, though, if you need someone to help you brainstorm or solve problems.”

Draco smiled broadly at her. “Thanks again. I’m glad to have you in my corner on this.” He reached into his pocket to dig out a few Galleons to pay for their meal, and left Eric a generous tip for his attentive, yet discreet, service. “That does remind me – I have another favor to ask of you.”

Hermione nodded, indicating that she was listening, as she gathered her things.

“I bought a mobile phone, and I need help to learn how to use it. Mother said that she had one, and I thought it would be the easiest way for all of us to stay in touch,” he explained.

“That’s a great idea. I’ll help you program our numbers in and show you how to make a call. It’s really simple; you’ll be fine,” Hermione assured him.

“Great. Thanks again.” At her amused look, he stared wide-eyed. “What?”

“You don’t have to thank me for every tiny little gesture, Draco. Save it for the big things, will you?” she teased as he guided her out of the maze of small tables.

“Like what?” he wondered aloud.

“Like me allowing you to pay for all of Louisa’s furniture,” she answered.

“And how is that something for which I should be thankful?” he teased back.

“Because you and I won’t be arguing over it. I’ll just let you have your way. That should always make you thankful.”

“I’ll take whatever I can get,” he muttered to himself as they left the bistro behind and headed toward the furniture store that Hermione had said was only three blocks away.

As they entered the showroom, they were greeted by a sales clerk who asked if she could direct them to a specific area.

“We need bedroom furniture for our daughter,” Draco answered.

“Is she an infant or a toddler?” the clerk queried.

“She’s just over two years old, and we’d like a full-size bed for her,” Hermione replied.

“And the remaining suite of items, too,” Draco added.

The clerk smiled broadly, obviously anticipating a decent commission on a pending sale. “Follow me. I’ll take you to the children’s furniture section and show you several samples.”

They wove through several sections of the deceptively large shop until they reached the section which featured bedroom furniture for children. “Most of the suites of furniture are here, but anything you see can typically be made in several different finishes of wood or even painted to match your room. I’ll give you a few moments to look around. If you need information or help, just send up a spark with your wand,” the clerk instructed.

“Thank you. We’ll let you know when we’ve made a decision,” Hermione told her in dismissal.

Draco was absently opening and closing drawers in dressers and cabinet doors in armoires while Hermione searched for a style that she thought would please her little one, yet still be serviceable for at least a few years.

“What do you think of this one?” she asked over her shoulder.

Draco was by her side in a moment, inspecting the set she’d identified. “I think it looks nice, but it seems a little… flimsy. She should have something sturdier and of better quality,” he pronounced.

He was right, Hermione mused. The set was a little on the cheesy side, but it was adorable, with all its painted characters and girly carvings. She sighed. “Okay, let’s keep looking.”

He had purposefully made his way over to the far end of the section. “Look at this one, Hermione,” he beckoned. “I think this is better quality.”

He was right about that, too, she noted. But it was a little too… rugged. Louisa had a strong preference at her age for all things frilly and light, despite her mother’s insistence that she be exposed to traditionally “boy” things throughout her young life. It was a losing battle with Narcissa as the tot’s grandmother.

“I agree. But your little girl is definitely into her feminine side for now. She’d hate it.” Hermione shrugged at his amused smile and they both wandered to find another option.

Approaching from opposite sides, they both came to a bleached oak canopy bed, its headboard carved with a unicorn in relief. They glanced at each other and came to a silent agreement instantly. “Let’s pick out the dresser, armoire and desk,” Draco stated.

They agreed on the remaining items quickly and Hermione raised her wand to summon the clerk. Before she could execute the spell, she heard the clerk approach, conversing with a co-worker as they neared. “I just want to check on that cute couple – the ones looking for a bedroom set for their little girl,” she said.

While Hermione’s instinct was to correct the clerk’s misinterpretation, and her mouth began to form the words, she quickly came to the conclusion that it really didn’t matter. In fact, it would seem scandalous that an unmarried man and woman had had a child together. She closed her mouth with a nearly audible snap, and looked at Draco. His jaw was tight and his posture rigid. The less said, the better, she decided.

As the clerk came into view, Hermione pasted a bright smile on her face and announced, “We’ve made our selection.”

She left Draco to work out the delivery times and finances, and wandered the shop for a few moments, looking at the vast array of fabrics, draperies, and linens also offered for sale. Hermione selected a set of bedding in pastel colors that would complement both the furniture and the room’s colors. It really wasn’t necessary to repaint; the room’s light baby blue color was perfectly lovely and certainly not too masculine. She brought the items to the front of the shop to pay for them, and was intercepted by the clerk.

“Oh, your husband said to put anything you chose on the total bill,” she informed her.

Hermione bit her tongue to prevent herself from blurting out what was running through her head. _He’s not my husband!_ Instead, she nodded and smiled weakly, leaving the fabrics to be packaged and shipped to the townhouse.

The two of them departed the shop in silence, and Draco wore an expression of anxiety on his face. The tension that had slipped away so easily during their companionable lunch had made an obvious and unwelcome return. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

Hermione sighed. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Draco. They made assumptions, which under the circumstances, were perfectly reasonable. It wasn’t your fault and I’m not angry or offended. It’s just… weird, that’s all. Let’s just forget it; we have things to do.”

Draco seemed confused by her pronouncement. “What do we have to do?” he asked, hoping for immediate clarification about whatever mission she’d decided to take on.

“We need to get the room ready for the new furniture,” she answered, looking at him as though he’d lost his marbles.

“Oh, yeah. Well, I figured I’d take care of that this evening after dinner and finish up tomorrow. The new furniture won’t be delivered until Monday afternoon, so I’ve got plenty of time.”

“Nonsense,” Hermione interrupted. “Louisa is my daughter, too, and it’s not fair to ask you to do everything on your own. I’m helping you.” She didn’t need to say the “and that’s final” part; it was clearly understood.

Draco chuckled. “Yes, dear,” he teased, hoping that she wouldn’t take further offense at his presumptive remark.

She punched his shoulder and laughed, and he reasonably assumed that he’d not stepped in it, at least this time.

“Fine. So when do you want to do this?” he probed.

“No time like the present,” she replied. “It’s only just after three, and dinner isn’t until about six thirty, so I’d guess we can get quite a lot done in three-plus hours. Is that all right with you?”

“Sure. I have no other plans. Shall I meet you there, or would you like me to take you Side-Along?” he offered.

Hermione deliberated for a brief moment. She’d only been to the place once and wasn’t entirely confident that she could Apparate safely to the still-unfamiliar location. They were also nowhere near an available public Floo connection. By way of answer, she grasped Draco’s forearm. “I’m ready.”

Moments later, Draco steadied Hermione as they arrived in the foyer of the townhouse. She thanked him briefly and removed her cloak, leaving it and her bag on a chair against the wall. “Let’s go evaluate what needs to be done,” she said, taking charge of the situation as she was wont to do.

Draco trailed after her as she climbed the curved staircase and moved to her left into the room. She rolled up her sleeves and recaptured her hair into a short ponytail, clearly ready to dive in. Draco followed suit by removing his jacket and turning up the cuffs of his shirt. He watched as she turned in the room with her arms akimbo, surveying what was there.

“Shall we tackle the closet or the furniture first?” she proposed.

Draco deliberated for a moment then made his own decision. “I think we clear out the little things all over the room and in the dressers; that will allow us to deal with the furniture,” he reasoned.

“Of course. You’re absolutely right. Do you have any boxes that we can use?” Hermione asked, wasting no time.

“I’m sure there’s something we can use in the basement. I’d like to box things up by category so that we can donate, save, or pitch them as the case may be,” he answered. “I’ll head downstairs to see what I can find, if you want to start pulling clothes out of the dresser.”

She nodded, and got to work, opening drawers and laying the items on the bed for Draco’s inspection and decision. He returned a few minutes later with one trunk and three small, open crates.

“Whatever I want to keep should all fit in the trunk. I’ll just banish anything that needs to be tossed, and the rest we’ll divide into the crates for appropriate donations. Sound okay to you?” he asked.

“Perfect. Take a look at the clothes on the bed, and I’ll help you pack it up,” Hermione offered.

Draco began to sort through the items that he’d not seen or used in nearly a decade, his wand at the ready to dispense of pieces that were not suitable for further use. As he was weeding through the stacks that Hermione had piled, he came upon a royal blue cotton sweater and laughed aloud.

“What?” she wondered as she watched his face light up.

“This sweater. My mum gave it to me for my thirteenth birthday, and I wore the darn thing day and night for weeks,” he answered through his broad grin. “It was my favorite, because she picked it out for me when the two of us went away for a weekend together to celebrate,” he told her. His expression turned serious as he continued, “That was about the time my father really started to get dragged back in to… everything, and I remember relishing the time away from all that darkness.” He cleared his throat abruptly. “Anyway, the weekend was a great memory, and this sweater was something of a talisman for me at the time – a reminder that someone cared for me and was looking out for me.”

Hermione smiled softly. “Your mum is a wonderful woman on many, many levels. She can be as cunning and manipulative as any Slytherin would hope, but she’s got an enormous heart and a clear sense of what’s right and wrong. No one has been more supportive of me in the last three years than Narcissa, and with losing my own mum during the war, she really has been as much a mother to me as I could have ever hoped. So, I know what you’re feeling, Draco. If I could have let her adopt me, I’d have done it in a heartbeat. You should keep that; it’s a great memento.”

Draco agreed with a nod and smile, and folded the sweater neatly in the old trunk. For the next three hours, Hermione and Draco waded through the contents of drawers and cabinets, chatting about memories and making decisions on the disposition of each item, and finally exhausted by their efforts, decided to quit once all the clothing, papers, and decorations had been sorted.

“I’m knackered,” Draco announced. “I’ll come back tomorrow after breakfast to finish up.”

“I’ll come with you,” Hermione offered. “It’ll go quicker with the two of us working.”

Draco couldn’t help the grin that graced his face. “That would be lovely.”

\--_--

“Narcissa!” Lucius called from the study. “You won’t believe what happened.”

Upon hearing her husband’s excited, exuberant call, she put Louisa in her play area to investigate what had him so worked up.

“What happened, love, that has you screaming through the halls,” she teased with a laugh.

“A second indicator was triggered.”

“Nooo… Seriously?” Narcissa was stunned, but clearly pleased by the news. “Which one?”

“Family affiliation. Hermione must have said something identifying herself as a member of the Malfoy clan,” he informed her gleefully, a sight that few would have believed if they’d had the opportunity to witness it. His expression turned smug in a flash. “This won’t be so hard, after all.”


	20. Thanksgiving

It was purely coincidence, of course, but it made for some interesting juggling of schedules. Louisa’s first birthday just happened to fall on the same weekend as the American holiday of Thanksgiving, which the Malfoys had promised to celebrate with their son, at his request. The five or six days beginning with November 23rd would be busy, frustrating, and complicated, Narcissa feared.

Since that particular holiday was not celebrated in Great Britain, she and Lucius had planned to join Draco on Tuesday afternoon, staying through Saturday morning in order to return to Wiltshire in time for the birthday fete planned for Sunday morning’s brunch. The time difference added an extra wrinkle or two, but the pair resolved to deal with Portkey-lag gracefully and without complaint. Draco’s school and work schedule allowed him a little time off to spend with his parents, and Hermione was adamant that a delay in marking Louisa’s big day until Sunday actually worked in everyone’s best interest.

Narcissa’s skill in planning social functions knew no peer, even in the instance of two locations an ocean apart and one massive secret demanding to be kept. She corresponded with Draco via International Floo Post regarding the arrangements for what he called “turkey with all the fixings” while instructing the small team of house-elves on the finer points of brunch for twenty in celebration of a first birthday. There would be another tot or two in attendance, so food and beverage for the adults had to include accommodations for the palates of little ones, and of course, the obligatory birthday cake, which Louisa would likely wear more than eat. Hermione protested loudly and often that she should be taking the lead in facilitating the celebration. The idea was flatly rejected by the grandmother who told her that her studies, and Louisa’s immediate needs, were a more important focus. Hermione only relented when Narcissa finally confessed that she felt guilty about leaving them to their own devices for five whole days, and begged that this allowed her to assuage those niggling feelings.

“Are you sure that Mrs. Potter doesn’t mind sitting with Louisa while we’re gone?” Narcissa probed for the tenth time that day. “If she’s busy, I’m sure Andy would be delighted to come over for a couple of days.”

Hermione smiled indulgently. “She doesn’t mind at all, and Louisa and little Jamie can play together.”

“He's only five months old. I can't imagine much play,” Narcissa noted wryly.

“Trust me, Narcissa. For Louisa, just sitting with him will be play enough. They’ll be fine. We’ll be fine. Just go and enjoy some time with Draco; you’ve done everything you can here,” Hermione replied, still noting the look of worried skepticism on the elder witch’s face. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll invite Andy over for late tea on Friday, when my classes are done.”

Narcissa beamed with relief. While she’d never admit it aloud, Luna Potter scared her. She was so much flightier than Hermione, regardless of how often the younger woman insisted that Harry’s wife was as sane and normal as anyone she’d ever met. Considering the interesting array of characters with whom she’d been acquainted in the wizarding world, that was small comfort. 

“I’m sure she’d be delighted to spend some time with both of you, dear,” Narcissa trilled. “I must, however, take my leave for a while. I haven’t yet finished packing, and I’m sure that Lucius hasn’t even begun. Since we’re leaving in just a couple of hours, there isn’t much time to get everything finished without some house-elf assistance!” She bustled off, calling for Lucius with a reminder of the time.

Hermione shook her head in amusement as she trotted up the stairs, intent on spending some quality time with her daughter.

XXXXX

Draco had spent the two hours since returning from his final class before holiday break simply waiting for his parents’ arrival. Chef Janeford had allowed him to take Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday evenings off to spend with his visiting relatives in exchange for helping to cover the mid-day shift on Thanksgiving Day, which he’d anticipated would be the single busiest meal service of the week. Since the holiday was typically an “all-hands-on-deck” event in the restaurant world, Draco was grateful for the accommodation. Though he’d not been as reclusive and quiet over the last few months, the restaurant’s management correctly surmised that a little time with family would do the young man a world of good; they’d made every effort to ensure that he would have the break he clearly needed.

Upon Narcissa’s orders, large hampers had been filled with the ingredients Draco had described in their recent letters and Floo calls, placed under magical stasis, and transported through International Post to the Salem house. He assured her that his cooking skills had progressed to be up to the task of actually preparing the feast, if she would agree to give him just a bit of assistance. Although Narcissa typically left meal preparation to her formidable staff of house-elves, she was not unskilled in the kitchen, and regaled her son with stories of the times she had propped up two-year-old Draco in a highchair to watch while she baked cookies and pies for family holidays and gatherings. He’d replied that his earliest memories did not reach that far back, but a ghostly aroma of chocolate and vanilla seemed to hang in the air as he attempted to picture the tableau his mother described.

When the three packages arrived, Draco dutifully unpacked them, fastidiously storing each item in its appropriate place, and making note of the small handful of items his mother’s attached note had indicated were not available for purchase in England, or which were too fragile or perishable to ship, even with the durable refrigeration spells she’d ordered. A trip to the market would be necessary to buy a few dairy items, and the fresh turkey that was the centerpiece of a traditional American Thanksgiving celebration. Draco, thinking that his mother might find American supermarkets a fascination, decided that he’d invite her to accompany him when they arrived. Finally, though, his wait was over, and he heard the Floo chime announce the arrival of his mother and father.

Leaping to his feet, Draco bounded around the corner from the library where he’d been relaxing to the front foyer which was home to the travel Floo. His smile upon seeing his parents was broad and enthusiastic, making him look younger than his twenty-three years. He enveloped both of them in a hug, ignoring the fact that each carried bags, making it impossible for them to immediately return his affection. “I’m so glad you’re finally here!” he exclaimed, sheer joy evident in his tone.

His father’s deep chuckle reverberated in his ear, quickly followed by his mother’s peck to his cheek. “Draco, darling,” she said with amusement, “be a love and give us a hand with these packages, and we’ll greet you properly.”

He released his grip on the two visitors and stepped back, a sheepish blush tingeing his cheeks. Reaching out to relieve their burdens, Draco said, “Of course, Mother, I’m sorry.” Much shuffling, stacking, and repositioning followed, and once the task was finished, Narcissa wrapped her arms fully around her son, briefly resting her head on his shoulder.

“It never fails to shock me that you’ve grown so tall,” she murmured with a hint of melancholy mixing in with what she hoped was perceived as teasing. “I still expect that your head will barely reach my waist when I embrace you.”

“He takes after my side of the family, my dear,” Lucius noted. “We’re known for reaching our height rather late, but getting there nonetheless.” The elder man reached over and grasped his son’s shoulder, making warm eye contact and giving him an affectionate squeeze.

Escorting them to the lounge, where a warm fire crackled brightly in the hearth, Draco offered his parents the comforts of soft armchairs and a beverage. “Since it's still morning here, I thought that maybe we’d just do omelets for brunch,” Draco suggested. “I’ve got the water on for tea, and it won’t take but a few minutes to whip them up.”

Hearing their mutual assent to the general idea, he asked, “Trust me on ingredients?”

“Of course, Son. You know our preferences,” Lucius affirmed.

“What can I do to help, Draco?” his mother offered.

“Nothing, really. I’ve already set the table, and the water should be ready any moment. Just relax; I’m sure you’re tired from the trip.”

Barely fifteen minutes later, the three were seated at the small but elegant dining room table, Draco having used the finer china, flatware, and linens he’d found stored in the cupboards to serve their meal. Wild mushroom and goat cheese omelets, a fresh green salad, dressed with white wine vinaigrette, and thick, crusty bread, courtesy of Chef Janeford’s kitchen and toasted to perfection, were presented with all the grace and flourish Draco had learned in almost two years of waiting tables and preparing meals.

“This is lovely, Draco,” Narcissa complimented, closing her eyes briefly to take in the delicate aromas of the simple meal. “I’m so impressed with how much you’ve learned.”

His father echoed the sentiment after swallowing his first bite. “Fabulous, indeed. This may be the finest omelet I’ve ever tasted.” His tone, incongruously both earnest and light, indicated that Lucius was not teasing.

Draco beamed with pride at his parents’ praise, and settled in to enjoy his own meal once he’d ensured that everyone’s needs had been tended. “So, tell me, what’s going on back home?” he queried with a glance at each of his elders. He didn’t fail to notice the look that passed between his parents, and he paused, swallowing his bite of toast heavily and dabbing at his lips with the fine linen napkin. “What?” he pressed.

“Oh, it’s nothing, dear. We just have a busy week coming up when we return to Wiltshire. Social obligations and the like,” Narcissa deflected with a wave of her hand, pasting on what she hoped would be seen as a bright smile. “I’m afraid I was distracted by thinking of some of the preparations I’ll need to do on short time.”

Lucius cleared his throat. “Yes, darling, but I’m sure you’ll be able to get plenty of help, so don’t trouble yourself with any of that now. We get so little time with Draco; don’t let your distraction interrupt it now,” he cajoled, and although his tone was light, she recognized the admonishment offered by the tightness around his blue-grey eyes.

“Yes, Mother, Father’s right. You have only a few days here, and I’m sure you can enlist lots of help for your gathering,” Draco agreed, feeling just a bit petulant and envious that he hadn’t captured her full attention.

“And you’re both right. I apologize for my lapse in focus,” she retorted, sounding appropriately chastened. “As to your question, Draco, did you have anything particular in mind?”

He shrugged, eyes focused more on his plate than on either of his dinner companions. "Just wondering about what some of my schoolmates have been getting up to," he responded in a mumble.

His parents traded glances and Lucius took Narcissa's tightly pursed lips as a sign that it would fall to him to make the first response. He cleared his throat and dabbed at his lips with the cream-colored linen napkin that had rested across his lap throughout the meal.

"It's my understanding that Blaise Zabini has joined his mother in Milan and won't be returning to London for the foreseeable future. It seems that they plan to establish a branch of her fashion enterprise there, and your classmate will be running the operations once things are well underway. Jerome Nott has also taken his son into the family law firm, it seems, to focus on business mergers and acquisitions," Lucius informed him.

Draco nodded his head in acknowledgement. "Theo often spoke of his wish to enter the law profession, so I'm glad to hear that he's achieved his aim. I'm a bit more surprised about Blaise's decision, but I guess he always did have a penchant for fashion." Here, Draco hesitated once more, and opened and closed his mouth, seemingly swallowing the words that threatened to escape.

Lucius’ countenance alternated between amused and annoyed, while his wife quickly settled on anxious. “Is there someone else you wished to know about? Miss Parkinson, perhaps?” he challenged lightly.

Narcissa coughed delicately into her napkin while Draco swallowed audibly. Lucius waited patiently for a response, a blond eyebrow raised as he watched the color rise in his son’s cheeks.

Draco peered at his empty plate for a moment while he gathered the courage to simply be honest about what he wanted to know. “If I know anything at all about Pansy, she’s found some rich older bloke to pay for her expensive clothing and jewelry habit,” Draco guessed with a fair degree of accuracy, drawing a barely audible snigger from his mother.

“Rather like her mother in that, I’d say,” she added under her breath, drawing a smirk from her husband and a snort of amusement from her son. Her twinkling eyes gave her son all the confirmation he needed that his guess was spot-on.

“If you’ve already surmised Miss Parkinson’s fate,” the elder Malfoy noted, “there must be something else about which you’re curious.”

“Well,” the young man began, “I’m always concerned for, uh, Miss Granger’s well-being.” His attempt to be nonchalant in his mention was an utter failure, due to the rapid, breathy, and mumbled manner in which his statement-cum-question was delivered.

His parents, particularly his father, had come to expect his periodic expressions of regard about the young mother who lived with them, and were thus reasonably well-prepared to field his query. Lucius, however, thought it wise to allow Narcissa to take the lead in responding, as it might seem odd that he’d have personal, direct knowledge of the young woman’s affairs. His tiny nod was her cue to speak.

“The last I heard from her, she was doing well. She’s been studying at St. Mungo’s for a new career, and stays in touch with many of her friends from Hogwarts,” Narcissa offered, as noncommittally as she was able.

Draco’s response was to nod sharply and tighten his lips. It was clear that he wanted to know more, but was not ready to ask the questions, nor would either of his parents volunteer additional details, which were fraught with danger on any number of levels. Since this seemed to signal his acceptance of her account, Narcissa decided not to delve further into explanation or exploration and deftly changed the subject.

“I understand that there are a few things left to gather for our celebration on Thursday,” she prompted.

Draco expressed his gratitude for being let off the hook by quickly accepting the rapid shift. “Absolutely, Mother. Just a very few items, but I thought you could accompany me to the market. The shops here in America are so different from back home, and I thought you might find the trip a fascination,” he offered.

After clearing the tables and cleaning them, courtesy of his mother’s quick wand-work, the two departed for their errands while Lucius remained behind, returning more than an hour later with Narcissa still twittering on about the bright, beautiful store and its immense selection of goods.

Mother and son spent the next several hours preparing delicacies and baking favorite desserts for their feast while Lucius corresponded via Floo with business associates, concluding discussions that would not be resumed until his return to England. Narcissa was struck by the ease with which her son maneuvered around his kitchen, particularly using minimal applications of magic. “You’ve learned a lot, Draco,” she observed, pride evident in her tone, even as a wave of melancholy tempered her expression.

“I have, Mother, and I hope to continue learning more at every opportunity,” he acknowledged. As he watched her lips barely tighten, he looked sidelong at her while pausing in his chore of mincing a large bunch of Italian parsley. “What?” he prompted, letting her know that he’d noticed her unease.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” she protested, waving a flour-coated hand in dismissal. She set a ball of dough on the counter and sighed. “It’s just that I feel that your father and I are missing all of the wonderful strides you’re making, and it frustrates me that we can’t be witness to your progress.” She picked up the dough-ball again and squeezed it with something resembling a kneading motion.

Draco used the tip of his knife to indicate the dough his mother was manipulating. “Don’t work that too much; the pie crust will be tough.” He paused very briefly, and determined not to create more drama than was necessary. “I know, and I wish that the circumstances were different and my ‘rehabilitation’ could have taken place back home. But things are the way they are for a reason, Mum. I’m convinced of that. While your constant presence and support would most certainly be welcome, I do feel that I’m learning more and making greater strides by handling this independently. I’m learning what it means to be Draco Malfoy and, for once in my life, no one can do that but me.”

Narcissa shook her head with a smile and leaned her head against the young man’s shoulder for just a moment. “You’re becoming very wise in addition to learning how to be an eminently capable chef, my love. Ignore my sentimentality and do what you need to. I will trust that it’s all for the best.”

He dropped a kiss on the crown of her head and whispered back, “Thanks, Mum,” as his mincing resumed. He cleared his throat and began to speak again. “You know, there’s an important tradition surrounding this American holiday that you and Father will need to be ready to address.” At her questioning gaze, he elaborated, “As you know, the holiday is called ‘Thanksgiving’ and, I’m told, it is tradition to share aloud the things for which you are grateful before the feast. Just so you know, I’m grateful now for your love, support, and confidence. I’m sure I’ll find something else to share at our meal, but I wanted you to know.”

 

XXXXX

 

When Thanksgiving Day dawned, Draco was the first to rise, having rested exceedingly well after a long and satisfying day of spending quiet and relaxing time with his parents. Knowing that he’d need to leave by seven o’clock to prepare for the mid-day shift at The Grapevine, he wanted to ensure that the light brunch he’d planned for them was well in hand, and that the final preparations for their evening Thanksgiving feast were completed. He’d prepared a country ham, Gouda, and broccoli quiche on Wednesday evening before they’d all retired, so it simply needed to be heated. He took a few moments to prepare fresh popovers, which needed only two minutes’ work, but took about a half hour to cook. That would be just enough time for the quiche to warm fully, to finish assembling a fresh fruit salad, and to allow for brewing coffee and tea. After sharing the morning meal with his parents, putting the turkey in the oven, and leaving final instructions with his mother on last-moment coordination, he left them to their own devices for the day.

By the time Draco returned to the Salem cottage at nearly six o’clock, to the fabulous aromas of roasting turkey, savory chestnut dressing, and baked pumpkin pie, Lucius had managed to wade through the holiday editions of the Salem Séance, the Boston Broom, and the large Muggle newspaper, the Boston Globe, while Narcissa, her shoes kicked off and resting under her chaise, had curled up with old photo albums which she hadn’t perused in decades.

A fire crackled in the hearth, warming the sitting room with its red and orange glow, and Draco felt a lump form in his throat at the familiar, homey feeling the scene evoked. “I’m home,” he announced unnecessarily, as they’d both looked up to greet him with open and welcoming smiles. “I’ll just go grab a quick shower, then we’ll get everything finished and on the table.”

“No need, dear,” Narcissa informed him. “By all means, take your shower and get comfortable, but I’ve already set the table and followed all of your instructions. The only thing left to do is mash the potatoes and thicken the gravy.”

“Mother! I told you I’d handle it when I got home!” he scolded, somewhat peevishly.

“Don’t be cross, Draco,” she soothed. “I knew you’d be tired after a long day at work, and you’d already done all of the preparation work. It was simply a matter of executing your final instructions, right down to how much butter and molasses sugar to add to the yams. The credit all goes to you; without your guidance, I’d have barely known where to start.”

He deflated a bit, but recognized that she wasn’t wrong. He was worn out, but he had also hoped to impress them with the meal he’d planned. “I’m sorry. You’re right, Mum, and I appreciate all your help, really. I just…”

“Draco, don’t you dare think for one second that we aren’t immensely proud and impressed with what you’ve accomplished,” Lucius interrupted. “Now, go get cleaned up, and let’s enjoy the fabulous dinner that you and your mother prepared.”

The younger blond managed a grin and a nod. “Yes, sir,” he retorted, and turned to bound up the steps to his bath.

A short twenty minutes later, Draco was in the kitchen, taking out whatever frustrations he might have left on the pot of cooked potatoes, mashing them to the perfect consistency. While the turkey rested before carving, he arranged the remaining elements of the feast in serving platters and bowls, and used his wand to cast a warming charm, ensuring that everything would reach the table at the perfect temperature. Narcissa helped him to transport all of the completed dishes from the kitchen to the dining room, and Lucius added to the effort by opening two bottles of Beaujolais Nouveau, the perfect accompaniment to a traditional New England Thanksgiving dinner.

At last, Draco entered the room carrying the large platter which held the impressive roasted turkey, beautifully browned and casting mouth-watering scents. Setting the bird on the end of the table, Draco began to expertly carve, just as he’d been taught by Chef Janeford. Soon, each person’s plate was filled with the efforts of his labors, and Draco was seated across from his mother, to his father’s left.

“Before we begin, I’d like to ask you to join me in one of the traditions of Thanksgiving,” Draco started. “As I understand it, this holiday began long ago as a way of celebrating the bounty of the harvest and, though it’s only legend, the friendship between colonists and Native Americans. Over the years, it has become an opportunity for friends and family to gather, to share this traditional meal, and to celebrate the things for which they are thankful since the last time they gathered. So, in that spirit, I ask you to share what blessings you celebrate today.”

Narcissa, having been forewarned, smiled proudly at her son and announced that she’d begin. “I am thankful today for our very lives, knowing how easily things could have had a very different and unwelcome outcome. I am thankful for my husband and his courage. I am grateful for my son and so proud of the incredible progress that he has made in rebuilding his life. I am grateful for new relationships, friends and family, and the joy they bring.” At this, Lucius coughed, fearful that his wife might inadvertently spill the secret they’d been so strictly prohibited from speaking. Accurately interpreting his concern, she amended her comments. “It’s been such a great thrill to reconnect with my sister, Andy, and her extended family. These are the things I’m thankful for today.”

Lucius took up the mantle then, nodding his head in agreement and echoing his wife’s sentiment. “These are all things I am thankful for, as well. I must add, though, my appreciation for our friends, who have remained true and faithful, and who have aided us in finding our way in our changing world. In this, I am especially grateful for Albus Dumbledore and everything he did for our family.” He turned to face Narcissa and reached for her hand. “I am deeply and eternally grateful for your love and trust, and for the courage and perseverance you have exhibited through all of our travails.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it lightly, emphasizing his emotion with deep eye contact. Finally, he reached out and clasped Draco’s shoulder. “Last, and most importantly, I am unspeakably thankful and proud of the man you have become, and of the strength you have shown throughout your painful and difficult journey to this point. You are everything I could have every wished for in my son and heir, and I love you.”

Draco swallowed heavily as he observed the emotion filling his father’s eyes, threatening to spill onto his cheeks. Lucius blinked the moment away and squeezed his son’s shoulder once more. The younger wizard breathed deeply to gather his thoughts and began his own litany of thanks.

“There is so much that I am grateful for today, that I barely know where to begin. I am thankful for my job and my supervisors, who have been so generous in their teaching and in support of someone who came to them so broken. I am thankful for my therapists, particularly for the difficult work they encourage me to do, and for the results that have come from it. I’m grateful for their kids, who’ve been a welcome and wonderful distraction when I’ve needed it, and great teachers when I least expected it. I’m appreciative of my professors at the university and the way they’ve pushed me to think and experiment and learn. I’m indescribably grateful to both of you for everything you have done to support and love me through this difficult time. There is no way that I can ever repay what you’ve done for me, but I’ll spend the rest of my life keenly aware of how instrumental you’ve been in helping me to rebuild my life.” He sighed and breathed so deeply here that it physically shook his body. “More than anything, though, I am thankful for Hermione Granger, and the fact that she believed that I was worth saving. I hope that, someday, I can live up to her faith in me.”

Both Narcissa and Lucius reacted with warm affirmations of their son’s sentiment and, by sheer force of will, maintained their composure and relative neutrality. Their shared thought was the wish that the entire family could have been together to celebrate their gratitude for the many blessings they’d had bestowed upon them.

XXXXX

A few weeks later, the household having long recovered from all the excitement and joy surrounding Louisa’s first birthday party (complete with ponies, a three-tiered chocolate cake, and countless moving images of the birthday-girl covered virtually head to shoulders in frosting), preparations for the Christmas holiday, including the traditional Yule celebration, were well under way at Malfoy Manor. This being Louisa’s first “real” Christmas, having only been a newborn the previous year, her grandparents were, without shame, leaving no expense or extravagance spared to ensure that the event would be memorable and perfect in every measure. Every corner was festooned with garland, ribbons, and crystal baubles, and twinkling fairy lights brightened each space. The visual stimulation was nearly overwhelming, and Hermione had spent hours trailing behind Narcissa - or her small army of house-elves - setting wards and protection charms to ensure that her little girl would not wreak havoc with the glittering decorations.

The piles of presents which had been secreted away threatened to offend the sensibilities of even the most generous doting grandparent, and Hermione had finally put her foot down, limiting the “carnage” – as she’d only half-jokingly termed it – to a still-substantial stack of about two dozen brightly wrapped packages. She’d insisted that what couldn’t be returned be donated to the War Orphans’ Fund to ensure that other young children would have something wonderful to open on Christmas morning. Both Lucius and Narcissa had finally agreed that it was the right thing to do, and had generously contributed another cash donation to finance the orphanage’s operating fund for the next six months.

The annual Yule Ball at the Manor was a slightly subdued affair in comparison to some of the lavish fetes that had been held in years past, but was no less elegant or well-attended. One substantial difference was the addition of a “Children’s Ball” held concurrently in a smaller ballroom, hosting families and their pre-teen and younger off-spring. The presence of Father Christmas and his merry elves distributing sweets and goodie bags, and posing for wizarding photographs, added to the little ones’ enjoyment.

There was, however, one singular and substantial source of disquiet and dissatisfaction for Narcissa Malfoy: the continued enforced exile and absence of her only son. Added to the stress of the secret they’d now kept from him for twenty-one long months, Lucius would later confide to his journal that he was surprised that her “melt-down” had not come sooner.

It was hours into the night after the last of the Yule Ball guests had either left for their own homes or, in the case of a small handful of very close friends, had retired to their guest rooms for the evening, that Lucius had returned from sipping a cognac in his study with Jerome Nott to find his wife sitting on the floor of her dressing room, her ice-blue silk ball-gown draped in billowing clouds around her, in a veritable puddle of tears. Thinking she’d fallen and injured herself, Lucius carefully lifted her from her position and placed her on their down-blanketed bed.

“Where does it hurt, darling? Shall I call for a Healer, or is this something you think I can mend for you?” he urgently prompted.

Her response was barely distinguishable between her sobs, sniffs, and hiccoughs. “S’nothing you can – hic – do! He’s not – sniff, sniff – here and – sob - he won’t be for months! He should be here!”

As comprehension dawned, Lucius gritted his teeth and gathered his wife into his arms, gently rocking her and rubbing small circles on her back in a largely futile attempt to offer her comfort. “I know, chou, I wish he were here, too,” he whispered. He, too, had keenly felt the absence of their son while surrounded by families enjoying the holiday festivities. Left unspoken between them, but hanging heavily in the air, was the specter of yet another important milestone that Draco would miss in his daughter’s life; the memories they’d stored away for viewing in the Pensieve would be but a pale shadow of the experiences he would see second-hand.

Hoping to assuage Narcissa’s grief, Lucius offered to try to arrange at least a couple of days with Draco in Salem, perhaps for Boxing Day and a day or two thereafter. While he would have preferred to begin their visit on Christmas Day, the prospect of asking Narcissa to choose between spending the day with her son or with her granddaughter was not an attractive one. Since they’d spent several days with Draco just a few weeks earlier, he had not anticipated his parents to return for the Yule, so even a short stay would likely be as unexpected as it was welcome. In fact, since no visit had been discussed, Lucius thought it not unlikely that Draco would have volunteered for extra duty at the Grapevine to allow a co-worker or two to have time with their own families.

Rummaging around in their en suite bathroom, Lucius located a small bottle of Calming Draught and offered it to Narcissa, saying, “Here, love, take just a sip to relax. It’s only just after eight o’clock in Salem; I’ll go call Draco to see if he’d like us to come for a couple of days.” At her silent nod (accompanied by a large hiccough after she swallowed the offered potion), Lucius returned to his study to place the Floo call.

On the other side of the Atlantic, Draco had just returned home from his final Business Finance and Accounting class of the semester. His exams now complete, Draco could relax and focus solely on work rather than balancing both his job and his studies. New classes would not begin until late January, and since he’d taken several courses through the summer semesters, he was on track to complete his Bachelor of Science degree in Business Management in three years - no small feat, and an accomplishment of which he was appropriately proud.

The chime of the Floo was unexpected, and Draco startled briefly at sound. Knowing, however, that it could really only be his mother or father, he smiled broadly and stuck his head into the flames in greeting as he immediately recognized his father’s voice calling out to him.

“Good evening, Father! It’s so nice to hear from you! To what do I owe the pleasure?” Draco said.

“Your mother and I had a some friends over for Yule, and we were thinking of you and missing you, so I thought I’d call and see if you might be interested in having some company in a few days,” Lucius answered, managing with a high degree of success to keep desperation and worry out of his tone.

Draco, surprised and pleased, immediately accepted his father’s offer, sharing one caveat, “I’d love to have you here, but I am working most of Christmas Day.”

Pleased that he’d anticipated accurately, Lucius nodded and replied, “That’s fine, son. Your mother and I do have obligations for the twenty-fifth, and thought you might be working, too. We were hoping to come across for Boxing Day, and maybe a day or two after, if that’s all right with you.”

“That’s perfect!” Draco offered. “Since I volunteered to work on Christmas, I’ll have the twenty-sixth and twenty-seventh off. We’ll have plenty of time to spend together.”

“Wonderful!” Lucius enthused. “We were planning to send some things through Floo post, but since we’re arriving just one day later, we’ll bring your packages with us. Don’t trouble yourself with making fancy meals, either. We’ll bring food from the Christmas feast, and maybe we can take you out for dinner one evening.”

“That sounds terrific, Father. I’m so looking forward to seeing you both.” Even through the ashy connection, Draco’s big grin was easily visible.

“Excellent! We’ll arrive around ten in the morning, your time, I expect. Please do drop a note or call us if you need anything before then.”

“I will, Father, but I’m sure we’ll be fine. Give my love to Mother, and I’ll see you then.”

Saying their goodbyes, father and son terminated the connection, and Draco set off to ensure that his guest room was ready for visitors while Lucius conveyed the happy news of their confirmed visit to his wife.

Narcissa had calmed sufficiently to begin preparing for bed, but it was clear that she was feeling vulnerable and anxious. She fidgeted with her hair and jewelry, and took long minutes to disrobe and complete her evening toilette, brushing her hair absent-mindedly while watching Lucius’ reflection in her dressing table mirror. “How did he sound?” she inquired.

“He was quite excited and happy, I think,” Lucius replied. “You know how he’s always loved the unexpected surprise.”

“Yes, that’s true,” she answered, turning to face him. “I’m sorry if I troubled you, darling. It’s just that the stress of this situation is sometimes…”

“I know, my sweet, and it does disturb me, too, certainly far more often than I allow it to show. I think it might be better for both of us if we were to share that stress more often, rather than try to shoulder the burdens alone and putting on brave faces. We must allow ourselves the luxury of each other’s support.”

Narcissa rose from her seat at the dressing table to join Lucius as he stretched out on their bed. “I couldn’t agree more, love. Now, I think I need a good cuddle before sleep.” She nestled into his welcoming arms, and the couple took their comfort in their embrace before Narcissa finally drifted off into exhausted slumber.

Unbeknownst to his sleeping wife, Lucius had made one more visit that night before joining her in their suite. He had knocked on Hermione’s door and explained Narcissa’s breakdown, pleading yet again to have her permission to share the news of Louisa’s birth with Draco. While sympathetic to Narcissa’s anxiety, Hermione would not be swayed. She indicated once again that she truly felt that her decision was best not just for herself and her daughter, but for Draco as well. As badly as she felt for the grandmother’s sadness, she refused to add new stress to Draco’s shoulders just when he seemed to be pulling his life back from the brink. The knowledge of his failed attempt to influence Hermione kept Lucius awake through much of the night.

XXXXXX

In Salem, Draco arrived at work on Christmas Eve morning to encouraging news from his boss, Chef Janeford. In recognition of all he’d learned and his stellar and reliable performance, he’d been promoted again, from prep cook to station cook, and would heretofore be responsible for primary preparation of all soups, stews, and chowders on the restaurant’s menu. This new role also came with another small increase in his salary and the requirement to supervise, jointly with the other two station cooks, the day-to-day work of the remaining staff of eight prep cooks. Having never had formal responsibility to manage the work of others, Draco was a little nervous about that portion of the job, but resolved that he’d follow Chef Janeford’s lead in providing clear expectations, specific directions, and encouragement when needed. If something went awry, he’d keep his cool and just get his team focused on the tasks at hand. He was proud as a peacock and couldn’t wait to share the good news with his parents when they arrived in two days.

A little more than a week later, Draco was struggling with the troubling dichotomy of his joy over his parents’ visit and the nagging sense that the two elder Malfoys had been upset or unhappy with him. The resultant conversation with Dr. David Roy was reminiscent of some of his earliest sessions.

“I could feel the tension emanating in waves from both of them,” Draco confessed. “I thought that I’d been making good progress - that they would be proud of me with what I’ve accomplished so far. I know I still have a long way to go, but I don’t think I’m still that awful person I was two years ago. I couldn’t understand what I’d done to upset them, and I even confronted my father about it when I had a few moments alone with him.”

 

“What have I done, Father? I’ve really tried to work hard. Why are you and Mother so upset with me? Have I not worked hard enough? Tell me what I can do to make you proud of me again.”

Draco went on to recount what his father had told him in response. 

“Your mother and I have never been more proud of you than we are now. You are everything we could ever hope for. Someday, you’ll understand how difficult this separation from you has been for us, and how much we wish we could do and say. For now, know that our love, respect, and admiration for you grow deeper every moment.”

“That’s what he said to me, but I can’t help but feel that there was something he didn’t say, and that’s what’s got me in a knot,” Draco concluded.

David Roy felt saddened for his young patient, recognizing that the tension with his parents had renewed old doubts about the path he’d chosen for himself. He was, however, very good at reading between the lines and even better at guiding his patients to look for the positives in every situation and interaction.

“You know, Draco, there are hundreds of possibilities for why your parents were upset or stressed that may have absolutely nothing to do with you. It may just be that those stresses were weighing on them when you happened to be near,” the Healer postulated.

Draco sighed. “I suppose that could be true.” He rose from his chair and paced the floor in front of the picture window, watching the snow fall lightly on Boston Common. “I guess that my reflex reaction is always one of guilt and responsibility – that it must have been my fault.” Unable to face his Healer in the moment, Draco crossed his arms over his chest defensively and stared at the footprints left outside the window by dozens of passersby.

“And how do you feel about that?” Healer Roy prompted.

Draco finally turned to face the man and looked at him sheepishly. “I feel guilty that I feel guilty. And you don’t have to tell me how twisted that is.” He shook his head with a combination of self-disgust and self-deprecation.

“And how self-aware,” the therapist pointed out. “Months ago, you’d have stewed for days, feeling miserable and working yourself into paralysis over it. Today, you saw the problem, confronted it, identified the feeling, acknowledged it, and decided that it was off-kilter. What does that sound like to you?”

“Well, when you put it that way, I guess it does sound like pretty good progress,” Draco acknowledged. “So why does it still make me feel so shitty?” he wondered aloud.

David shrugged. “How about you tell me?” The tiny smile playing over his lips did not go unnoticed.

Shaking his head, Draco summoned his answer. “I hate to disappoint them, and in doing that, I disappoint myself. I’ve worked really hard, I think. And I feel like I deserve my progress, and maybe even a little pat on the back for it now and then.”

“So you think you haven’t had recognition for your success?”

Draco raised his arms and dropped them back again in a gesture of frustration. “I don’t know. I guess I could count my promotions at work as recognition…”

He was interrupted by the Healer’s question, “And how many of those have there been, by the way?”

“Uh, four, I think.”

“In how long?”

“Just over two years.”

“And how many people do you know who get promoted twice a year?” David was struggling not to laugh at this point. “How about school? I thought that you showed me a grade report recently,” he teased.

“Yeah, my GPA is at 3.89,” Draco admitted.

“And that’s on a one-to-four scale, correct?”

“Yeah.”

“And that earned you a spot on the Dean’s List, if memory serves,” David reminded him.

“Uh-huh, it did,” Draco acknowledged.

“That’s six semesters in a row, including summer sessions, isn’t it?”

“That would be correct,” he replied.

“So, taking off my therapist hat for a minute and putting on the ‘older, wiser pal’ hat, do ya want a medal, or a chest to pin it on, kid?” David teased, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

“Okay, bud, I get your point.” Draco had the good grace to blush from neck to hairline. “I guess I’m expecting an awful lot of myself, and when something feels a little off, I beat myself up all over again.”

“Sounds like an appropriate diagnosis for the problem, Healer Malfoy. What would you prescribe as treatment?” David prompted.

“Lighten up on yourself, kid. It’s not going so badly, and you’ve got a lot to be proud of and thankful for,” Draco concluded.

“Perfect. Now, our time’s up for today. Want to come over for some beef stew? Kate was making a vat of the stuff, and I’m sure the boys would love to see you,” David invited, grabbing his coat from the hook on the door and tossing Draco’s parka at him.

XXXXXX

Lucius sat in his study, nursing a tumbler of Old Ogden’s, neat. He was stewing over the exchange he’d had with his son, wondering how foolish both he and his wife had been to allow their heartbreak and frustration over the situation at home to taint the all-too-brief visit in Salem. Hearing a brief knock on the door, he looked up to see Narcissa entering his sanctuary.

Offering her a cognac, which she gratefully accepted, he joined her on the settee in front of the massive marble fireplace. “How could we let that happen?” he wondered.

Narcissa sighed. “I think the accumulation of the stresses of the last several weeks simply weakened us. You must admit, it’s been a long stretch of activity and we’ve had more secrets to keep than usual.”

“You know, I tried to get Hermione to relent again, just before Christmas. Of course, she refused,” Lucius added, unnecessarily.

“I thought as much. She was rather quiet, though, when we returned. I question whether she’s regretting her decision,” Narcissa proposed.

“Whether she is or not, she’s clearly steeped in her Gryffindor stubbornness. More than anything, I think I’m angry with myself for not figuring out a way to have never had to make that vow in the first place. What kind of Slytherin am I that I can be out-maneuvered by a Muggle-born less than half my age?”

“The kind who couldn’t fathom the idea of not having a relationship with his granddaughter. And, dear husband, the kind who still has a trick or two up his sleeve,” Narcissa reminded him, raising her glass in a toast to him, and to the New Year that would dawn in just a few hours.

XXXXXX

The social scene among the younger employees at the Grapevine was not exactly robust, but neither was it non-existent. Being a family restaurant, the management did not expect a large crowd for New Year’s Eve celebrations, so it was a skeleton crew that staffed the establishment for the night. The employees who had the night off, including Draco Malfoy, decided to gather at a neighborhood bar that was better known for its nightlife than their own place of work. The group of about a dozen young adults was roughly equal in male/female composition, and most were single. The live band and plentiful alcohol ensured that there was plenty of dancing and a fair amount of pairing off. One notable exception to much of the frivolity and merry-making was, unsurprisingly to most of his co-workers, young Mister Malfoy.

His reputation amongst the crew was that he was personable, polite, intelligent, and curious. He was also the most conservative and quiet of the assemblage, including some of the staff who were significantly older than the group which had gathered to celebrate the arrival of the New Year. That he rarely drank more than a single beer or glass of wine was also a given. The females in the group, though his “fiancée back home” story was now relatively common knowledge, also weren’t blind and uniformly found the young blond exceedingly attractive. That one of them might make a play for him during the festivities shouldn’t have surprised anyone.

The boldest of the group was Sarah, a twenty-one-year-old junior at Salem State who was financing her degree in Education with her substantial tip income. (She was not above using her formidable skills as a flirt, combined with her undeniable physical charms, to ensure that her male patrons treated her very well when their dinner checks were presented.) While she had repeatedly tried to turn those charms on Draco, he’d been polite but firm in refusing her attentions. That night, however, Draco had had a little more than his customary one drink, and was slightly more vulnerable to the wiles of a determined female, who happened to share one very obvious trait with the witch who held his affections. Sarah’s long, curly brown hair – though typically secured in a tight up-do while at work - had been the only feature to which Draco had, at times, been drawn.

Her first move had been to secure a seat near him at the large table the group had reserved. She used her proximity to ensure that his glass was never empty, so he had inadvertently consumed far more alcohol than had been his intention. Once Draco’s mood seemed a bit more pliable than usual, Sarah took every opportunity to subtly (for her) make physical contact – a brush of the hand, a squeeze of the forearm, a bump of the knee. Finally, she cajoled and begged often enough that he agreed to join her on the dance floor, if only to stop the harassment. Proving just how wily and determined she was, Sarah had timed her assault to ensure that they approached the dance floor just moments before the pivotal stroke of midnight, during which the band typically played “Auld Lang Syne,” the traditional slow-paced song that demanded little more than swaying to the languorous beat. Unable to gracefully escape, Draco listened with mounting dread as the crowd around them chanted down the seconds to midnight. “Five, four, three, two, one!”

Sarah used the crowd and the moment to enact her plan: she kissed Draco full on the lips, coaxing more from him than he would have typically allowed. Getting swept up in the moment, fueled by the fairly substantial amount of beer he’d drank, the kiss became a respectable snog until Sarah tried to go too far by grabbing a handful of Draco’s firm left buttock. That was enough to shock him from his reverie, and he pushed her away, not with force, but firmly enough that the intended message was clearly sent. She made the further mistake of stepping closer and making an offer that she thought no red-blooded male would refuse. Sadly for her, she really didn’t know Draco very well.

“While I’m sure you’re perfectly… capable and, uh, willing, I’m not in a position to take you up on your offer,” Draco told her.

“I’m open to other positions,” Sarah cheekily replied.

“Again, thank you, but no,” Draco said firmly. He concluded their interaction by turning and leaving, barely remembering to grab his coat on the way out, and nodding his goodbyes to the co-workers he encountered along his exit route.

Once he was enveloped in the comfort of his own bed (after consuming a bit of Sobering Potion), Draco allowed memories of the evening’s events to come to the fore. He knew this occurrence was one he’d discuss with Dr. Kate at their next meeting. He could hear himself answering the question she’d undoubtedly ask about his reactions to the woman’s kiss. “I guess I wasn’t thoroughly disgusted. I mean, it’s been a very long time since I’ve had a good snog and the sensation of it was fine. But I wasn’t happy about it, either,” he’d tell her, then relating the particular anxiety over unwanted or forced attentions that had been at the root of his dysfunction.

As he finally drifted off to sleep, the dark, curly hair that had been in his line of sight that night was now surrounding a different face, and he was eagerly burying his hands in those waves, returning the kiss with gusto. His physical reaction was not unanticipated; dreaming of Hermione always resulted in arousal. When he awoke the next morning, he decided that he’d have only one resolution for the New Year: For once in his new life, he’d have an orgasm without feeling guilty about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my dear friend, the incomparable UnseenLibrarian, whose tireless brainstorming helped me to find my way of the hole.


	21. Unity

Six Weeks Later…

It had taken Draco just over two weeks to complete the renovations and refurnishing of the London townhouse, and Louisa had taken quickly to the idea of a second home. Lucius teased Hermione that his granddaughter clearly understood and embraced the many benefits of having been born into the Malfoy wealth. Hermione responded by volunteering, child in tow, at a local clinic that provided preventative healthcare services such as screenings, childhood immunizations, and family planning to underprivileged patients. She was determined that her daughter would be raised to be as generous of spirit as she could afford to be with her money. Draco’s own efforts in this regard, as he continued to refine the plans for his not-for-profit restaurant, supported Hermione’s position in both word and deed.

Louisa’s relationship with her father had developed substantially, and Hermione found that the three of them were spending more time together than she had anticipated. During the earliest days of Draco’s repatriation, Hermione had been present whenever father and daughter were together, in order to ease their transition into a relationship. Within just a couple of weeks, it had been clear that her presence was not strictly necessary, as Draco and Louisa had fairly quickly progressed into a strong bond. Because her work schedule as a newly-installed Mind Healer was demanding in both time and energy, however, Hermione found that it was both effective time management and, dare she think it, enjoyable to spend time as a quasi-family unit.

Draco had proved to be a capable, attentive, and loving parent, and she was relieved to find that tense moments for the two of them had been few and far between. On more than one occasion, the one-hour weekly meeting they’d agreed upon when deciding how they would co-parent had turned into three or four hours of conversation, and had occupied more than the prescribed one day per week. That many of these meetings took place once Louisa had been put to bed for the night and had, more often than not, been accompanied by dinner and a glass or two of wine had not escaped the notice of either Draco or his parents.

As comfortable as Louisa had become with her father, her mother was finding her own peaceful coexistence both more rapidly and more easily than she’d thought possible. The two young parents had found an amicable rhythm, and Hermione believed that she and Draco were on the way to forming a truly meaningful and deep friendship.

For his part, Draco had relished the time he and Louisa spent together, made that much sweeter when Hermione fully joined in whatever activity he had concocted to keep his bright and energetic daughter engaged. Although the attention span of a two-and-a-half-year-old was notoriously brief, Draco found that she had sufficient interests and curiosity that there was rarely an unwelcome lull. From reading books aloud to finger painting to stuffed unicorn races to the occasional post-brunch pony ride at the Manor, there was ever a dull moment.

When Louisa would finally succumb to her need for a nap, Draco enjoyed preparing meals for the two – or three – of them. His experience in catering to the young palettes of the Roy children had made it easy for him to adapt to Louisa’s needs, with just a few hints from Hermione about her specific preferences. He had been prouder than a peacock when Hermione had raved over the first meal he’d prepared for them once he’d settled in to his new, if temporary, home. When, near the end of the meal, she’d said, “Wow, this is sure as heck not Spam!” he had flushed bright red with an incongruous combination of pride at her praise and humiliation at the reminder of how they’d come to be in their current circumstance. That had quickly faded when she’d added, “Draco, if you’re going to feed me like this often, I’m going to need to visit a seamstress to let out all of my clothes!” It had seemed like a forward-looking thing to say, and he’d taken it as an expression of an intention that they continue to spend time together.

They had established a fairly regular pattern of visits and, when either practical or necessary, sleepovers for Louisa. Nearly every time, Hermione had also stayed, still concerned that Louisa might feel unsettled if she awoke to find her mother not there. To this point, each of these visits had been planned at least a couple of days in advance, in deference to Hermione’s schedule at St. Mungo’s and Draco’s work and research in finding a suitable location for the restaurant. Something a little more spontaneous happened on the weekend of Saturday, May 13th, however, when Louisa awoke in her bedroom at Malfoy Manor insisting to see Papa Drake, “Now!”

The plan for the weekend had been for Draco to collect Louis at the Manor around three that afternoon; Hermione would likely follow an hour or so later, after her work shift. The three would have dinner together, then Hermione and Louisa would return to the Manor to sleep. Draco would join them late Sunday morning for the family’s weekly brunch.

Louisa’s tantrum, however, would not be assuaged, no matter how many promises were made that she would see her father later in the day. No amount of cajoling, distracting, scolding, or pleading dissuaded the toddler from her mission. Since Hermione was scheduled to work from eight that morning until four p.m., she was unable to bring Louisa to see her father, much less spend the day with the two of them. As the grandmother clock in Louisa’s nursery chimed half past seven, Hermione knew that she’d have to make a decision and act on it quickly.

Her choices were limited: she could give Louisa a tiny dose of calming draught and put her back to bed; she could leave it to Narcissa and Lucius to deal with; or she could call Draco and gain his help in managing the situation, even though it would be “giving in” to the child’s tantrum. None of the solutions were ideal. She hated the idea of resorting to effectively drugging her child to manage naughty behavior, though there were hundreds of parents in the wizarding world who had used that remedy for centuries. No, she thought, that will not be me.

It wasn’t fair to Lucius and Narcissa, either, to dump an inconsolable and demanding child in their laps. Besides that, Hermione considered, it was highly likely that the two of them would conclude, as she now admitted to herself that she was close to doing, that allowing the child to see her papa was probably not a horrible solution. The logistics, however, were decidedly up in the air. Not being intimately aware of Draco’s daily schedule, Hermione had no idea whether he was home or available, either at that moment or for the balance of the day until their planned meeting several hours later. Sighing with frustration, she decided that there was only one way to find out.

Digging her cell phone out of the bag she’d already slung over her shoulder, she pressed the speed dial key that corresponded to Draco’s number. In two rings, he answered.

“What’s wrong?” he demanded.

“Why would you think anything is wrong?” she challenged.

“Because you don’t call me with no reason at half past seven in the morning. Thus, there must be a problem,” he concluded.

She sighed loudly into the phone. “Okay, smarty pants, there is a little problem, but nothing to get yourself into a twist over.” She paused for a moment to consider how to phrase her request. In the brief silence, she swore she could hear the rustle of clothes being donned through the connection. An unmistakable “zip” confirmed her suspicion and made her blush at the thought that she’d caught him, literally, with his pants down. She started again, “Louisa woke up this morning demanding to see you, and nothing I’ve been able to do has calmed her down. Are you available to come over for at least a few minutes to see if you can settle her?”

Draco was quiet for a moment, taking a second to cherish the thought that his daughter was so anxious to see him and that Hermione had trusted him enough to ask for his help. Realizing that Hermione was waiting for his answer, he cleared his thoughts and replied, “My calendar is free today; I’ll be there in five minutes.”

Hermione gushed a grateful “Thank you” into the phone and broke the connection.

Less than three minutes later, Draco rounded the corner of the wing containing his daughter’s nursery at nearly full speed. Hermione, hearing his heavy footfalls, exited the room to intercept him, intent on a quick private conversation before he saw Louisa.

The blind corner being what it was, the two narrowly avoided a painful collision, Draco reaching out reflexively to steady Hermione as she threatened to lose her balance in the near-miss.

“Oh, sorry!”

“No – thanks – I’m fine.”

Draco, realizing that he still grasped Hermione’s arms, released his grip quickly, as though he’d been shocked by static. “Sorry, I, uh, didn’t mean to, uh…”

Amused by his embarrassed stammering, she reached up and squeezed his shoulder. “Relax, Draco, No harm, no foul!”

He sighed and ran his hands through his hair, the tell-tale sign that he was either nervous or anxious. “So, I understand that our little miss was asking for me and causing you grief. What do you need me to do?”

“Well, I’ve got to get to the hospital by eight and she’d having a total melt-down. She’s been asking for you and she won’t take ‘no’ for an answer. Can you spend some time with her?” Hermione pleaded, barely taking time for a breath.

Draco did his very best to contain the broad grin that begged to break free, and was only marginally successful. “I’d be absolutely delighted to spend the day with her, Hermione. I don’t have any obligations for now, so it’s no issue at all.”

“You don’t need to spend the whole day if you have other things you need to do, Draco. Just long enough to get her settled down – and to see if you can decipher if there’s something specific that she actually wants other than your company,” she finished.

“No, really, my day is hers,” Draco protested, not wanting the opportunity to slip through his fingers. “Besides, we were going to meet around three, anyway, for our weekly visit,” he rationalized.

“Whatever you think is best,” she allowed. “You can stay with her here, if it’s easier. Call me later if you need anything. I’m done at four, so call me on my cell and let me know if I’m to meet you here or at the townhouse,” she called over her shoulder as she raced down the hall to make her Floo connection by 7:55. Her “thank you!” echoed as she turned the corner and disappeared from his view.

Draco shook his head, then turned on his heel to intercept his recalcitrant daughter. As he opened the door to the nursery, he encountered his own mother, bouncing the crying tot in her lap and whispering into her ear.

Upon seeing her son enter, Draco heard her say, “See, here’s Papa now.”

“Papa!” Louisa’s call was half sob and half shriek. She extended her arms to him in a plea to be held.

Draco crossed the room in two long strides and gathered Louisa into his arms. “Papa’s here, baby girl. Shh, now.” He bounced her lightly and rubbed soothing circles on her back. He cuddled her close for a few moments, dropping kisses on her blonde curls, until she calmed enough for him to ask a question or two to try to understand what had her in such a state.

“Now, little one, will you tell Papa why you wanted to see me so urgently?” he prompted.

“Scary monsters, Papa. Make them go,” she pleaded with teary eyes and a trembling lip.

“Well, Papa is happy to chase away any monsters for you, sweetheart, but Mummy and Mémère and Pépère could to that, too,” he told her.

“No, Papa. Want you to do it. Only you,” she stated firmly, clearly brooking no arguments. He thought in that moment that she’d definitely inherited her mother’s Gryffindor stubbornness.

Draco hid his satisfied smile at the massive stroke to his emotional ego and sighed with feigned exasperation. “In that case, you need to tell me what kind of monsters and where they are so that I can use the right spells to make sure they don’t come back,” he said with as much gravitas as he could muster.

Gathering as much dignity as a toddler could manage, Louisa stiffened slightly in Draco’s arms and lifted her head from his chest to make eye contact. “Bed, Papa. Green monsters with bazillion arms,” she informed him with an intensity he could scarcely believe was available to one so young. The phrase “old soul” came immediately to mind.

Peering at her with a parody of confusion, he decided to play along. “Were they under the bed or in the bed?” he asked.

“Under, Papa,” came the fervent reply, accompanied by enthusiastic nodding and blonde curls bobbing.

“I see. Hmmm.” He tapped his chin as though in deep thought. “That’s actually a good thing, my darling,” he pronounced.

She looked at him with great skepticism. “How come?”

“Because if they were green, then they are Spring Huggers. They come in from outside during this time of year to let good little girls and boys know that the flowers will be blooming very soon. They have all those arms to be able to give lots and lots of hugs,” he explained in what he thought was one of the most creative fabrications any parent had ever conjured. The muffled laughter coming from his mother on the other side of the room told him that he probably wasn’t too far off in his self-congratulatory assessment.

“Papa sure?” Louisa pressed.

Draco nodded emphatically. “Papa is positive. Absolutely nothing to be frightened of. Next time you see them, just give them a big smile and a hug, and then they’ll know that they can go find another new friend.”

Louisa’s sigh of relief of utterly comical. “Okay, Papa. I give hugs and they go away.”

“You’ve got it, munchkin,” he confirmed. “No reason to be scared at all. Now, how about we get you dressed and fed some breakfast?” he offered. “Would you like Papa to make some waffles for you?”

With a hearty vote of agreement, Louisa consented to be handed over to her grandmother to be washed and dressed, and Draco made his way to the kitchens to make good on his promise of homemade waffles for everyone.

Ninety minutes later, with all bellies full and monster fears vanished, Draco had to decide how to proceed with the rest of the day. He was thrilled by the prospect of spending the entire day in quality time with his daughter; they’d thus far had few opportunities to have such an extended period of private bonding time. He couldn’t dispute, though, the fact that she had so vehemently required his presence his this morning boded well for the progress of their relationship.

He’d begun to feel that Hermione had developed sufficient trust in him that she had no hesitancy about the time he spent with Louisa, regardless of her own presence. More than that, he was gratified that Hermione seemed to have relaxed significantly in his company, talking with him easily on a wide range of topics and at great length. He would never deliberately exclude her from the time he spent with Louisa, but there was something just as special as time alone getting to know the only child he was likely to have. His one out-of-reach wish was for similar quality time with the oblivious target of his affections. While the time they spent together was growing, finally progressing beyond discussing Louisa’s immediate needs was a bit of headway that they’d only begun to breach in recent weeks.

He recalled that Lucius had told him days earlier that he’d overheard Hermione telling Luna Potter that she’d rejected the offer of a “coffee date” from a co-worker at St. Mungo’s, saying that she had enough in her life at the moment without adding the complication of a romantic entanglement. This news was both welcome and troubling. On the one hand, while there may have been some competition for Hermione’s attention, she had, apparently, rejected her suitor’s offer quite firmly. That meant there was one less outside influence for him to worry over. On the other hand, she’d also indicated that she wasn’t eager to begin any romantic relationship. In light of this, Draco decided that his father’s counsel about approaching their relationship from the angle of respect and reliability was not the worst place for him to be.

His ruminations, however, still left him with an undecided issue: how to handle the remainder of the day with Louisa. It was now just after half ten and it would be about six hours before Hermione would be able to join them for the visit that had already been planned.

From a purely practical perspective, six hours was a very long time to spend with a child who was so young and with whom a relationship was still in its fairly early stages. It was also an incredible opportunity to further build their connection and to demonstrate his reliability and trustworthiness to Hermione. Recognizing that an hour or so would be occupied by the spectacle of lunch and another two hours would be spent in nap time, Draco calculated that he’d really only have about three hours with his little girl. That, he now thought, didn’t seem like nearly enough time. Once Hermione arrived, they’d begin to prepare dinner and the dynamic would shift.

Finally, Draco concluded that he also needed to prove to himself that he was capable of exercising his parenting skills without the safety net of Hermione’s watchful presence. In the unlikely event that he encountered any issues, he could call his mother on her cell for a bit of guidance or advice.

“Mother, I’ll be taking Louisa back to the townhouse with me,” Draco announced. “Would you know where Hermione keeps Louisa’s day bag so I can pack a few necessities for her?”

Narcissa demonstrated in that moment that Draco’s well-known adolescent smirk had been inherited from her. “Of course, darling. It’s in the top shelf of the walk-in, on the right side. Would you like me to help you find anything?” she offered.

He shook his head. “No, I think I know where everything else is kept. I have duplicates of all her toiletry needs at the townhouse, so I’ll only need a change of clothes, a pajama for later, and her stuffed unicorn. She has books, puzzles, and dolls in her room there, too.”

It took only fifteen minutes for Draco to finish gathering what they’d need for the day, and to say all of the necessary goodbyes for an extended absence. (Louisa insisted on making her farewells to each of the seven house-elves who were employed at the Manor; her mother would have been proud.) A short Floo ride later, father and daughter embarked upon what Louisa would later tell Hermione was, “the best day ever!”

When Hermione’s work shift ended at just after four o’clock, she’d still not had a single opportunity to touch base with either Draco or his parents. Since the high concentration of magic in and around St. Mungo’s – much of it aberrant energy due to illness and injury – made the use of her cell phone challenging, at best, she’d not even had an opportunity to check for any messages they may have left. She grabbed her bag and the light jacket she’d worn to ward off the early morning chill, and walked three blocks from the hospital to allow her phone to work without interference. It would have made no sense to use the Floo Network inside the hospital since she had no idea where she needed to be.

Her phone lit up with notifications of two voicemail messages and one text. The first voicemail was from Narcissa, telling her that all was well, and that Draco had calmed Louisa and fed her breakfast. That had come just after nine. The second message was from Draco, telling her that he’d decided to bring Louisa to the townhouse for the day and to call when she was ready to head over after work. The text message, also from Draco, reaffirmed the voice message he’d left: “Louisa w me at tnhs.”

She laughed aloud; Draco had fully embraced the technical revolution into his life. She replied to his text: “Thx – b rt there.”

Deciding that Apparating was probably quicker than walking the three blocks back to St. Mungo’s Floo connections, she pocketed her phone and grasped her wand. It was just a half-minute later that she appeared with a slight pop in the townhouse’s foyer. She stowed her jacket and shoulder bag on the coat rack and went in search of her daughter and her… friend.

“Draco, I’m here,” she announced, heading for the kitchen where she’d thought she’d heard some activity.

Confirming her suspicion, he replied, “In here, Hermione.”

She entered the kitchen to find him preparing a pot of tea.

“I got your text. Would you like some?” he offered, indicating the tea service on the counter with a nod.

She smiled gratefully. “I’d love a cup.” Hermione dropped wearily onto one of the six ladder-back chairs that surrounded the round wooden table in the breakfast nook. “Where’s the munchkin? Is she napping?” Hermione asked.

“Yes, but she should be waking up fairly soon. She’s already been sleeping for about an hour and a half. We played unicorn races this afternoon and she got pretty knackered,” he answered with a chuckle. “We probably have a half hour before she’s up, though.”

“Terrific. Sounds like you had fun.” Pausing for a moment, she hesitantly added, “Would you have anything I could snack on? I was so busy that I never got lunch.”

Draco looked at her with concern. “I’m sure I can rustle something up for you, but you need to take better care of yourself,” he admonished.

“I know, and I usually do. It was just one of those days,” she answered.

He made a sound of acknowledgment and turned to pull open the door of the refrigerator. “Any preference? I could make you a Panini or an omelet. I’ve also got fruit and cheese.”

“Surprise me – something light, though.”

“Yeah – I was thinking that you were staying for dinner, so I made some fresh pasta for later. Thought I’d do a salad and fettuccini with shrimp for us, and with chicken for Louisa, if that’s all right with you,” he told her, his expression hopeful that the idea would meet with her approval.

She groaned, but it was a sound of pleasure. “That sounds absolutely fabulous. If that’s the plan, just some fruit or cheese for now. I don’t want to spoil my appetite for dinner.”

Peering into the bins inside the refrigerator, Draco pulled out a pear, a honey-crisp apple, and a block of aged cheddar. He made quick work of slicing the fruit and arranging it on a small plate with a chunk of the sharp cheese and a handful of wafer crackers. With a flourish, he garnished the plate with a sprig of fresh mint and presented it to Hermione, setting it beside the mug of tea she’d already begun to sip.

“Thank you, Draco. That’s perfect!” she complimented. Pushing the plate slightly away from herself, she offered, “Take some, if you want. I probably won’t finish all of this.”

Reaching over, he selected one slice of pear and a small piece of cheese. “That’ll do,” he stated. “We had a fairly late breakfast and I didn’t eat lunch until after I set Louisa down for her nap.” He smiled at her, enjoying their brief moment of the tiniest bit of intimacy.

“So, what did the two of you find to do all day?” Hermione asked lightly.

“We read, did puzzles, spent some time in the garden,” he recounted. He grinned in recollection. “She wanted to cuddle for a while before her nap, so we did that, too.”

Hermione smiled back at him. “It sounds to me like the two of you had a wonderful day.” She sighed deeply. “I wish I could have been with you, but it’s nice that you had some private time, too. I think you’re becoming a great dad, Draco. She’s so happy and comfortable with you.”

Draco beamed with pride at her praise, but didn’t fail to notice the dark cloud that had descended upon her features. “What’s wrong?” he probed.

Hermione shook her head, but wrapped her arms around herself. “I’m really sorry, Draco,” she whispered hoarsely.

Drawing his forehead into a frown of confusion, he asked the obvious question, “What do you have to be sorry for?”

“For keeping her from you. The more I see the two of you together, the clearer it is to me how wrong I was. I hope that you’ll be able to forgive me for that someday.”

Draco snorted and barked out a laugh. “Oh please, Hermione, give it a rest. You’ve forgiven me, and I’ve forgiven you. I think, Miss Mind Healer, that the two of us would be better served if we could each forgive ourselves and stop the self-flagellation.” He reached over and patted her hand as it rested on the table. “I propose that we just relax, have a nice dinner and a glass of wine, and amuse ourselves for the next couple of hours with our daughter’s antics. Whaddaya say, Granger?” He winked at her. “Chill,” he teased.

“’Chill’?” she mocked. “There’s no doubt that you were hanging out in America for far too long, Malfoy!”

The heavy mood, however, had been broken and the pair traded smiles tinged with both embarrassment and relief.

“So what can I do to help you get dinner prepared?” Hermione offered.

“I’ve done most of the prep work while Louisa’s been napping, but you could help me prep the salad, if you want. I was thinking, though, that if you were tired and want to rest a bit, I can put it together in a flash,” he replied.

Hermione’s eyes went wide for a moment. She hadn’t taken a nap in months upon months, and the idea that Draco had just planted in her head was indisputably enticing. Just an hour would do her a world of good, she thought. “Really? You wouldn’t mind if I grabbed a quick kip?”

“Not one bit,” he acknowledged. “Louisa’s still sleeping and I’ve got dinner well under control. Go ahead; I’ll come knock on your door in an hour or so. I’m sure there will be a little blonde kid who’ll be eager to see you by then, too.”

Hermione rose from her chair, reaching over to squeeze his forearm. “Bless you and the ground on which you walk, Draco Malfoy! I think I’m going to do just that. I’ll see you in about an hour, then.”

Upon rousing without Draco’s pending wake-up call, Hermione sat up in her bed, propping against the headboard with a pile of luxurious pillows. She was feeling slightly unsettled as she recalled the dream that had brought her to full consciousness.

The content of her dream hadn’t been troubling. In fact, quite the contrary was true. It was the fact that it wasn’t disturbing to her that had surprised her so much. She tried to rationalize it as reflective of the growing number and type of interactions that the three of them had already experienced. She couldn’t, however, deny that her dream had prominently featured her daughter’s physically appealing father as more than just the little girl’s doting papa. He’d been a full partner to her, as well, fondly draping his arm over her shoulders, pulling her in for a hug, even planting unassuming and familiar kisses on her cheek and forehead. What had been most surprising of all is that her dream-self had clearly not minded the attention at all – had, in fact, seemed to welcome and reciprocate it.

Mumbling to herself, Hermione posed the obvious question: “What in Merlin’s good name does that mean?” She decided to chalk it up to the way she interacted on a physical level with her closest male friends. She and Harry had been known to stroll with their hands intertwined, and Neville dropped kisses on her curly-haired head with great regularity. Yes, she concluded, it was nothing more than her subconscious recognizing Draco as a good and trusted friend, a status toward which they’d been steadily treading for several weeks. The one nagging retort from the deepest recesses of her mind, however, noted that she rarely attached any thoughts about “attractiveness” to any of her other male friends, and that had undeniably been among the first thoughts that had come to the fore as she recalled and processed her dream.

Further internal debate was halted when Hermione heard a tiny knock on her door, and the low rumble of a man’s voice in a stage whisper, obviously coaching his daughter.

“Mummy, time to wake up!” she heard Louisa announce at her full volume.

This brought an immediate smile to her face and she issued the invitation to enter. “Come on in, sweetie. Mummy’s awake.”

The doorknob turned easily and Louisa bounded into the room, leaping at full speed to join her mother on the large, down-covered bed. “Missed you, Mummy,” Louisa pronounced while leaning in to plant kisses all over her mother’s face. They were quickly returned.

“That’s quite a kiss fest,” Draco observed from his spot leaning against the doorframe.

“Hi,” Hermione greeted, with a smile that she hoped didn’t show the sudden wave of shyness that swept over her. When she noticed that Draco was carrying a tray, she asked, “What’s that? And what are you doing over there?”

He flushed slightly. “It’s just a little appetizer I pulled together before we have dinner, and I, uh, didn’t want to presume that your invitation included me.”

“Don’t be silly; of course it did,” she retorted. “Come in and show me what you’ve got.”

He entered and set the tray on the low table in her seating area. “It’s warm roasted pancetta with goat cheese, sliced pear, and a spring of fresh thyme. Dinner will be ready in about forty-five minutes, but since I was getting a little peckish, I thought you might be, too.” As she rose from the bed to meet him, he presented her with one of the small plates and a linen napkin. “Try it; I think you’ll like it.”

Accepting the plate with a smile and nod, Hermione took a bite of the aromatic starter, and stopped in mid-chew, her eyes going wide. Placing a hand over her lips, she broke her own rule of never speaking with her mouth full. “Oh my gods, Draco, this is incredible!” she enthused.

Draco’s ear-to-ear grin lit up his face and Hermione blushed as she realized that the expression he was wearing was exactly the one she’d remembered from her dream – the one that had caused her to attach the adjective “attractive” to the young man now basking in her praise and approval.

“I’m glad you like it,” he returned. “It’s probably a bit sophisticated for the munchkin, though, so I just made a couple of pear slices with a tiny bit of goat cheese for her. She’s had it before,” he noted, “and it won’t spoil her dinner.”

As Hermione finished the wonderful treat, Draco sat and pulled Louisa onto his lap, handing her one of the small pear slices and supervising to make sure she didn’t make a mess.

Hermione watched the pair closely, the scene demonstrating again how truly comfortable Draco and Louisa had become with each other. His attentiveness and tenderness with the girl spoke volumes about his feelings for her. Hermione could readily admit that he’d taken to the role of “Papa” with full commitment.

Their dinner less than an hour later was a scene that could have played out at any one of millions of other tables all across England – a young mother feeding bits of pasta and chicken to her toddler, a father chuckling as his little girl’s face became covered in cheese sauce, using his own napkin to clean her off, a sweet child giggling at the funny faces both parents made to entertain her.

The one unusual event came a bit later, once dinner dishes had been washed and put away, and apple tartlets consumed for dessert. Hermione had taken Louisa upstairs to her room to change her into pajamas in preparation for their return to Malfoy Manor, and the process had gone without a hitch until Hermione began to pack up Louisa’s day bag.

“No, Mummy. Stay here!” Louisa demanded, going so far as to twist out of her mother’s hold and run to her bed, ignoring the step stool in favor of attempting to climb in without assistance and succeeding only in getting herself tangled up in the bedclothes.

Focused mostly on her goal and not on the dynamics of the situation, Hermione freed Louisa from her cloth-bound predicament and set her on her feet. “No, sweetie, we have to get home so we can both go to bed,” she admonished.

Louisa became uncharacteristically stubborn, crossing her arms, pouting, and stomping her foot. While the child was not immune to periodic fits of the “terrible twos,” she was usually quite good-natured and compliant, this morning’s tantrum one of few examples to the contrary. Thus, Hermione was a bit taken aback when her daughter turned and ran from the room, screaming at the top of her lungs for “Papa.”

Hearing the commotion, Draco quickly made his way up the stairs and scooped up the wailing child. “What’s the problem, pumpkin?” he inquired, searching for any evidence of a boo-boo that might have set her off.

Hermione emerged from Louisa’s room a moment later, sighing in relief that Draco had snapped the child up before she’d made the attempt to dash down the stairs, a feat that was still a challenge for her little legs and inconsistent balance.

“She doesn’t want to go home to go to bed,” Hermione answered on Louisa’s behalf. The sobs and hiccoughs would have made a response unintelligible, in any case.

Draco peered over Louisa’s head, lifting an eyebrow in question of a more specific explanation. At Hermione’s shrug, he refocused on the toddler and spoke to her softly, “You know, sweetheart, Papa’s having a hard time understanding you through all those tears. How about you take a big, deep breath and stop for just a minute so that you can tell me what you want?”

Hearing his soothing and reasonable tone, she calmed slightly and started by trying to dry her eyes and nose on her pajama sleeve. Her ever-prepared Papa, however, forestalled her by producing a fresh linen handkerchief from his pocket, holding it so that she could blow her nose, just as they’d practiced when she’d had a bit of the sniffles a few weeks earlier.

“Good girl,” he praised. “Now, tell Papa and Mummy what’s wrong.”

Though the hiccoughs hadn’t quite subsided, Louisa attempted to make herself understood. “Mummy said we go home. I want this home,” she emphatically stated. “Stay here with Papa.”

While Draco’s heart swelled to the point of bursting, Hermione was only a bit surprised at how well she’d articulated her thoughts and feelings on the topic. Louisa’s wish to stay with Draco was a natural and predictable result of the state of progression of their growing relationship. She reminded herself that it was not a rejection of her but an expression of the girl’s genuine need to continue to build her bond with her newly-found father.

Making eye contact with Draco, Hermione tried to convey that, while she didn’t have any specific objections, they’d need to be careful about setting precedent and giving in to naughty behavior. It seemed that her message had been received and understood when Draco nodded, then spoke to their child.

“Well, as much as I would love to have you here, Mummy and I will need to discuss this together and decide whether it’s okay to do this tonight, or if it will need to wait for another night. If you’re a really good girl for a few minutes, and go play with Penelope in your room, Mummy and I will let you know what we decide. Okay?” he asked, seeking her agreement.

The tiny voice echoed his word, and he handed her off to Hermione so that she could settle her back in her room for a short while. When she returned, Draco suggested that they use their shared sitting room for a moment of private conversation. He opened the door for her and allowed her to pass into the quiet space ahead of him.

“Wow – that was unexpected.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“So how do we handle this?”

“Fuck all if I know, Hermione. I’ve only been a parent for a few weeks.”

“What do your instincts tell you?”

“My brain tells me that we shouldn’t let her get away with making these kinds of demands. My heart says, ‘Are you nuts? She wants to stay, so let her.’”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Are there any major logistics issues if she were to stay?”

“None that I can think of, other than the regular Sunday brunch tomorrow.”

“Yeah, my parents are pretty adamant that we spend time together as an entire family.”

Pausing for a moment before she replied, Hermione then asked, “You haven’t had them here, yet, have you?”

“Not yet. Are you thinking what I think you’re thinking?”

“If you’re thinking that maybe the solution would be to host Sunday brunch here instead of going to the Manor, then, yes. I’d be more than happy to help. I’d bet that your mother would even offer the help of a house-elf for the day.”

“Hermione, I’ve cooked for a hundred people at a time; I think I can easily handle brunch for four and a half,” he scoffed.

“Well, it could kill multiple proverbial birds with one stone. Louisa and I would stay over, I’ll help you in the morning, and you can have a mini-housewarming while your parents still get family time.”

“Put that way, it sounds like a win-win scenario. But, how do we set it up so that it doesn’t appear that we’re just giving in to Louisa’s tantrum?”

“That part is fairly simple, I think. She’s smart enough to recognize that plans change now and then, so we’ll just have to make this sound like it happens to fit what we want to do as much as it meets her needs.”

“Okay, I’m game if you are.”

“Done.” Hermione instinctively stuck out her hand in a move to “shake” on their agreement.

Without hesitation, Draco took her hand in his and gave it a quick squeeze – more affectionate than business-like, but not enough so as to be uncomfortable.

“Let’s go tell her.”

“Perfect. Then, I’m going to want you to make good on your promise for another glass of wine. I’m all for a little relaxation about now.”

“As milady wishes,” he answered, bowing at the waist with a broad flourish of his arm.

As she walked past him toward Louisa’s room, she lightly backhanded his shoulder. “Goofball.”

Louisa had been ecstatic, needless to say, but it wasn’t more than an hour later that she was ready for bed, her day having been especially active even for a spirited two-year-old. Draco and Hermione had tucked her in together, taking turns giving her the required hugs, kisses, and wishes for sweet dreams.

Hermione had momentarily retired to her own bedroom, scrounging up a set of track pants and a light flannel hoodie that she’d left behind on a previous visit. Twisting her hair into a quick bun, she joined Draco in the shared sitting room once again, this time curling up into the corner of the tan sofa. Having also changed into comfier clothing, Draco returned with a bottle of wine and two glasses, which he set on the end table in easy reach.

He poured for both of them, then handed her one of the glasses. “Do you want a snack of any sort?”

Hermione laughed. “Gods, no, I’ve had enough food tonight to keep me satisfied for a week, I swear!”

Draco smiled in response. “I do like to feed people, I guess.”

“And you’re quite good at it, too,” she complimented sincerely.

“Thank you. I do think it’s easier to be good at something if you enjoy it.”

Hermione raised her glass in a silent salute of agreement, then took a sip. “Have you talked to your parents yet about tomorrow’s change in plans?”

“Yes, while you were changing, I called Mum on her mobile. She seemed to like the idea and said they’d be here around eleven. Don’t let me forget to open the Floo for them,” he requested.

“Oh, did you shut it down for the night already?”

“Yeah, I did. Why? Did you need to go somewhere?”

“Not urgently. I just thought I might pop over for a few minutes to grab something to wear for tonight and tomorrow.”

“Oh, I’m sorry; I didn’t even think of that. You should leave a few things here for these kinds of unexpected stays, maybe.”

“While I don’t want to encourage Louisa to use that kind of emotional blackmail, I suppose that it’s only natural for her to want to spend more time with you. I anticipate that means that we’ll probably be spending a few more overnights here, although I suppose there may be times when she will stay with you on her own. So, that’s a long way of saying that I agree with you. For tonight, I’ll just try to find something to transfigure, and I think I can pull together some kind of suitable outfit for tomorrow.”

“Are you sure? I can re-open it in a jiffy,” he offered.

“Thanks, but it’ll be fine. I’ve decided that I’m entirely too comfortable and quite pleasantly buzzed to attempt either using the Floo or Apparating,” she confessed.

“If you need something to sleep in, I’m sure I could find an old jersey you could wear,” Draco suggested, and in short order regretted opening his mouth. How could I be so stupid, he chided, to offer something so intimate? Thus, he was stunned when Hermione apparently seized upon his gesture.

“That’s actually a great idea, if you don’t mind. I’ve got a dressing robe, but the only thing I could easily change would be the blouse that I wore today, and I’ll need to repurpose that for tomorrow. Thanks, Draco. That saves me a bit of trouble,” she said.

“Uh, good. No problem. Let me get something for you now, then, before we both get too comfortable to want to move.” He rose to search his dresser for something that would be appropriate, and returned a few moments later with a Salem Slayers Quidditch jersey that his father had purchased for him during one of their visits.

“This is something I’ve only worn a couple of times, and it should be long enough to, uh, cover…” he trailed off, not wanting to complete the thought that could only get him into trouble.

Hermione twisted her lips into an impish smirk and accepted the garment from his outstretched hand. “It’ll be perfect. If I had to transfigure this top, I’d have been way too warm. This is a much lighter fabric. Thanks.” She decided to spare both of them any further embarrassment. As she bunched up the jersey in her lap, she noted that it did seem to carry a hint of the scent that Draco typically wore. Since the jersey seemed to have been freshly laundered, it was probably carry-over from other things that he’d worn and stored in the same drawer. It was a pleasant fragrance, but she prayed that the idea wouldn’t plague her throughout the night, particularly considering the dream to which her subconscious had repeatedly returned throughout the evening.

“Do you have any preference for brunch tomorrow?” Draco wondered.

“Not particularly. I’m not sure what you have available, but I’m certain that you’ll be able to create a wonderful meal with whatever you’ve got,” she responded.

“The pantry and fridge are pretty well stocked, so there are plenty of options. I was thinking about a vegetable quiche or frittata, maybe a roast loin of pork and roasted potatoes. Possibly an apple and pear crumble for something sweet.”

“That all sounds fabulous, but you might want to add some pancakes or waffles for Louisa. She’s sometimes a little picky about too many vegetables with her eggs.”

“Good point. I know she’s eaten quiche before, but you’re right about the veggie angle,” he observed. “I’ll do pancakes, I think, with a few bangers. That’s easy to do ahead and keep warm.”

“Perfect – and she can have a little cereal when she gets up so she won’t be too cranky,” Hermione recommended.

“I think we have a plan, Miss Granger,” he agreed with a smile, leaning over to tap his glass against hers.

Another two glasses of wine apiece, nine shifts of topic, and three hours later, Hermione could no longer stifle the yawns that were the evidence of her building fatigue. “As delightful as this conversation has been,” she began, “I’m afraid that I’m fading fast.” Glancing at the display on her cellphone, she noted, “No wonder I can’t keep my eyes open. It’s nearly midnight!”

“Well, we can’t have you turning into a squash, now, so I guess it is bedtime for you,” Draco needled.

“That’s a pumpkin,” she corrected automatically.

“And a pumpkin is, in fact, part of the squash family. I learned these things, you see!”

She chuckled. “You have a point there!” She rose and stretched her arms over her head. “Good night, Draco. See you in the morning.” Without waiting for further commentary, she made her way into her private sanctuary, hearing him echo her sentiment as she closed the door behind her.

In his own private room on the opposite side of the suite, Draco sat on the edge of his bed and peeled off the thick cotton socks he’d worn, tossing them into the laundry basket just inside the bathroom door. He flopped backwards, his knees bending over the edge of the mattress, feet just barely brushing the floor due to the significant loft of the thick bedding, and his arms flung back above his head. He sighed deeply, the sentiment behind it a rich and confusing mixture of contentment and frustration. He was thrilled with several of the developments over the last couple of weeks in his relationships with his daughter and her mother. He was ecstatic, in particular, that Louisa had been so anxious to spend time with him, although, he had to admit, he wasn’t especially happy about the tantrum part. “Comes with the territory, I guess,” he muttered aloud in recognition of the fact that the emotional melt-down she’d had was pretty typical of children her age.

Rolling over onto his stomach and drawing his arms under to rest his head upon them, he recalled the great fun they’d had throughout the day, and how wonderful it had felt to experience what he imagined a normal dad might. Having two days in a row with her was going to spoil him. He was so thankful that Hermione hadn’t objected to them spending the unplanned overnight visit. She’d really been wonderful about ensuring that he and Louisa were allowed as much time together as he wished. The fact that she typically accompanied them was no hardship in his opinion.

During the last two or three weeks, in particular, he felt like the two of them had reached a good spot in their own relationship. While it certainly wasn’t as much as he wished for, it was more than he’d expected at this stage. If pressed, though, he’d have to admit that there were some stresses on his emotions and behavior. He’d had to mentally restrain himself more times than he could count from taking her hand, putting an arm around her, or leaning in to kiss her when she sat so close to him. He thought he’d been appropriately congenial without exposing his deeper feelings, but there had been a time or two when he might have been caught gazing at her a little too long or with something that could be interpreted as wistfulness in his expression.

He felt like he was walking a tightrope in his relationship with Hermione. His recent conversation with Kate Roy had allowed him to speak it aloud, relieving some of the pressure, but it wasn’t something likely to disappear any time soon…

“I feel like we’re getting emotionally closer, in the process of parenting Louisa together,” he’d confessed, “but it’s almost worse to be so near and not be able to show her or tell her how I’m feeling. At least when I was in Salem, there was no expectation that she’d appear around the corner and I’d have to stop myself from reaching out to touch her.”

Kate had wondered, “Do you think she has any inkling of what you’re thinking and feeling?”

Draco had sighed, then. “I think she has some recognition that I feel something for her, and especially at the beginning, she was very protective and distant. A lot of that has diminished, but I think she’s concluded that I’m one of her ‘guy pals.’”

“And?” Kate prompted.

“It’s better than being persona non grata, but friendship is rather pale against what I feel for her,” he admitted.

“How are you dealing with it, as a practical matter?” she asked.

Draco had rolled his eyes and laughed. “How do you think? Every time I leave her, I go back to my bedroom for a good wank.”

Kate had shaken her head, laughing along with him. “That’s a reasonable and healthy response, given the circumstances, and you know it.”

“Yeah, I suppose. I’d be lying, though, if I said it wasn’t getting a bit old. I’m nearly twenty-five, and I want more in my life than the fantasy of her. It may come to a point, somewhere down the road, that I just need to completely accept that there’s no chance for us and it’s time to move on. There’s the problem, however, of whatever my parents have been up to. I still haven’t been able to get any additional information on what that is. I’m afraid that it will be something that forces us into something that one or both of us won’t want, and that would be the most disastrous outcome I could imagine.”

For now, though, the thought of the woman of his dreams and fantasies sleeping just mere feet away was driving him a bit batty. It wasn’t the first time she’d stayed overnight – in fact, she’d stayed each of the half-dozen or so times that Louisa had – but something felt different this time; they’d spent a significant amount of time together, and it had been especially warm and comfortable. He thought, even, that he’d noticed her looking at him with something other than just friendly regard. Just the hope that she could find him even the tiniest bit attractive – someone other than the man who’d been the unwitting and unwanted sperm donor who produced her child – well, that was a heady thought.

Draco rolled over onto his back again with a groan, covering his eyes against the lamplight with his forearm. The discomfort that had forced him to turn over was only too obvious. If he didn’t take care of it soon, he’d be aching half the night. He snatched his wand from the bedside table and cast a one-way silencing charm on the door so that he could hear if anyone approached or if Louisa called out. While he’d long lost any compunctions about getting off by himself, he sure as hell didn’t want Hermione to hear him doing it, particularly as it wasn’t unusual for him to vocalize her name somewhere in the process.

Stripping off his track pants and t-shirt, he pulled the covers down and slipped between the cool sheets. One more flick of his wand extinguished the lights, and he settled in to the pillows, allowing his eyes to drift closed as he imagined the woman he desired, so close, yet so very far. He was so hard already that his cock was weeping, and he used the moisture to make himself slick. Wrapping tightly around his erection with one hand, he used the other to ease some of the tension in his sac. Draco had learned that he’d probably be fairly vocal in bed; whispering his fantasies aloud and calling out her name seemed to fuel both his desire and his completion. While it wasn’t truly deliberate, he realized that he’d been doing that for the last few moments, imagining that it was his desired lover’s hands on him. “Yeah, just like that. Oh gods, that’s perfect. I’m going to devour you, sweet thing, just like you do to me. I want to fuck you so deep. That’s it, yes!” With a strangled cry of her name and a deep-throated growl, Draco came over his hand, breathing harshly and feeling like his legs and arms had turned to jelly. Too exhausted and too relaxed to consider getting out of bed for a shower, he cleaned up quickly with the t-shirt that hadn’t quite made it off the bed, and fell into a deep slumber.

XXXXX

Morning came with the sound of chirping birds, and warm sunlight filtering through lacy curtains. Hermione expected that Louisa would probably come in search of her fairly soon; the tot was a notoriously early riser. Mere moments later, her prediction proved true with a soft knock.

“Come in,” she called, throwing the blankets off her legs and stretching luxuriously.

While Louisa was at the door, so too was Draco, once again holding a tray of food. This time, however, he had been less reticent about entering Hermione’s private domain and was thus rewarded with a tantalizing eyeful of the young woman’s shapely legs, all the way up to mid-thigh.

Draco stammered an embarrassed apology and turned his back to her, affording her some privacy. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to barge in if you weren’t dressed yet.”

Reaching for her dressing gown, Hermione reassured him that no harm had been done. She whispered, “Don’t worry about it, Draco. You’ve seen legs before, I’m sure.”

Although he was cataloguing the moment to add to his fantasy repertoire, his demeanor was outwardly nonchalant, even blasé, and he relaxed a bit, finally asking if she was decent. “Is it all right for me to put the tray on the table?” he asked, regretting quickly that his voice sounded a bit hoarse.

“Sure, I’ve got a robe, Draco,” she replied. “What did you bring for us?” she asked, placing her hand on his shoulder from behind as she peered over his height to whatever delicacies he might have prepared.

He shivered at her touch and turned to finally face her. “Just a little tea, toast, and fruit to tide us over ‘til lunch. Some cereal, too, for Louisa.”

“Bless you! Any chance you have a tiny bit of HO potion with you? I seem to have the slightest bit of a headache this morning,” she confessed.

“HO?” he asked, then the abbreviation quickly dawned on him and he chuckled. “After three glasses of wine? Lightweight,” he needled.

“No question about it. Two is usually my limit and red wine always gets to me more than white,” she admitted. “So do you?” she prompted again.

He winked at her cheekily and said, “Coming right up,” as he left the room to retrieve the potion.

Meanwhile, Louisa had scrambled onto the sofa and was waiting patiently for one of her parents to help her with her fruit and cereal. Hermione sat beside her and poured a little milk into the bowl, adding a few banana slices to the top. She balanced Louisa on her lap and began to feed her small spoonsful. This, of course, was not what the child wanted.

“I do it, Mummy,” she protested.

“We don’t have your booster chair here, honey, so there’s nothing for you to balance your bowl on. Let Mummy help you for now, and you can be a big girl at brunch with Mémère and Pépère,” she proposed.

“No!” she shrieked at top volume.

Draco reentered the room with the small blue potion bottle Hermione had requested and took one look at the situation, determining in a flash what the problem was. “She wants to feed herself, doesn’t she?”

“Got it in one,” Hermione acknowledged.

“Here – I’ve got an idea.” Draco removed the remaining items from the tray and placed them on the table. He then transfigured one of the armchairs into a smaller size as befitting the needs of a toddler. He lifted Louisa from Hermione’s lap, placed her in the chair, and affixed the tray to the arms with a sticking charm. “There – problem solved,” he announced as Hermione chuckled and placed the cereal bowl in front of Louisa.

“Why didn’t I think of that?” she murmured, mostly to herself.

“Probably that little headache is not allowing your typically brilliant mind to function at its full capacity,” he excused.

“Must be it,” she agreed with a roll of her eyes. She uncorked the potion bottle he’d given her and took one small swig. She shuddered as she felt the potion’s healing effects overtake her. “Much better – thank you.”

“Tea?” he offered, pouring some of the steaming steeped liquid into a china cup. He added the lump of sugar that she typically preferred and handed the prepared beverage to her.

She thanked him and sipped at the scented brew. “This is a nice blend. You’ll have to let me know where you get it so I can pick some up for the Manor,” she noted.

“I blend it myself,” he answered, “but I’d be happy to make up a tin for you.”

She smiled once more in thanks and reached for a piece of wheat toast, spooning some orange marmalade from edge to edge. “So, what’s the plan for the rest of the morning?”

“I’ve been up for a while so I’ve done a good bit of the preparation for brunch. If you want to get cleaned up and look after getting Louisa dressed, I can work on making the pancake batter,” he suggested.

“It won’t take me more than about forty minutes to get both of us ready, so I can help you finish up after that,” she offered.

“Perfect. If you don’t mind, I could use your help getting the table set and selecting whatever you’d like for beverages. I thought that maybe a white wine would be better for the pork, and I’m sure my father will want coffee while the rest of us prefer tea. If you’d sort that out, I can finish the rest of the food preparation.”

“Consider it done,” she agreed.

Three hours later, Hermione was putting finishing touches on the table settings when the Floo chime announced the arrival of the senior Malfoys. Since Draco was occupied in the kitchen, Hermione greeted them in the foyer with embraces, taking the light traveling cloaks they had worn to protect their clothes from Floo ash.

“Draco’s in the kitchen and Louisa is playing with a puzzle in the parlor. May I get you something to drink, or would you like a quick tour, first?” she offered.

Narcissa linked her arm around Hermione’s. “Let’s take a little tour first. We’d love to see what the two of you have accomplished. I’m sure brunch will be served soon, if the aromas coming from the kitchen are any indication.”

“Of course. You’re right, we should be serving in about ten or fifteen minutes, but that’s plenty of time to look around the first floor. We’ll look at the upstairs later this afternoon.”

“Lovely, dear,” Lucius added, allowing his gaze to wander over the few changes and improvements that had been made to the entry foyer.

After showing them through the rooms that had been thoroughly cleaned and updated with minor repairs and fresh paint, they stopped in the bright, airy parlor to gather up Louisa, and finally to the dining room, where Draco was placing a platter of roasted loin of pork on the mahogany sideboard.

“Mother, Father!” he greeted with a broad smile. “We’re so glad you could come.” He kissed Narcissa’s cheek and embraced his father, taking Louisa from her Pépère’s arms to install her in her booster chair.

“Everything is ready,” he announced, “so make yourselves comfortable.” He turned to Hermione then. “Would you give me a hand in the kitchen for just a quick second?”

“Of course.” To his parents, Hermione said, “We’ll be right back. If you’d like tea or coffee, the pots are ready for you on the table.”

As the two disappeared into the kitchen, Lucius and Narcissa exchanged pleased glances while making kissy faces at their granddaughter, who giggled at their silliness and blew kisses back to them.

Draco and Hermione returned together, carrying the serving platters, which they arranged on the table. Finally, Hermione took her seat while Draco performed the only remaining task of slicing the roast. As plates were filled and delicacies consumed, conversation flowed around the table.

His parents complimented Draco on the wonderful meal and noted the changes he’d made on the first floor. He was quick to credit Hermione’s taste and guidance in the updates and improvements, praising her keen eye for color and design.

“You should see what she’s done with Louisa’s room upstairs. It’s quite lovely,” he noted admiringly.

“It wasn’t all me,” Hermione corrected, the artwork in the room coming to mind.

“We’d love to see it before we go, darling,” Narcissa replied. “Would you give us a tour?” With that comment, she rose from her seat, giving Lucius a pointed nod. He caught her cue and rose as well, echoing her thought. “Yes, we’d love to see what you’ve done with the upper floor.”

Somewhat taken aback by their abrupt shift, both Hermione and Draco wondered if they’d done something to offend or upset them.

Nearly identical scenes played out as Hermione took Narcissa aside for a moment while Draco cornered his father.

“Is everything all right? You don’t have to leave so soon; I thought we were all having a lovely afternoon,” Hermione observed.

“Of course we did, darling! Everything has been perfectly delightful.” Narcissa patted Hermione’s hand warmly. She leaned in, determined that their conversation remain private. “We’re going home because the three of you need time to build your bonds. Draco and Louisa need to solidify theirs, and you and he need to keep working on finding your balance. It takes time for those things to happen, and we can help you do that. We don’t want to see you back at the Manor until five at the earliest. Now, show me around these rooms so we can get out of your hair,” she ordered with a wink and a smile.

Lucius was a bit more pointed and definitive in what he said to his son. “The two of you are getting along quite nicely. Are you pleased with how things are progressing?”

Draco leaned against the sturdy banister, crossing his ankles and his arms. “What are you getting at, Father?”

Lucius shrugged. “It just seemed that you worked extraordinarily well together to pull of this impromptu brunch. I’m perfectly certain that either of you could have achieved it on your own, given sufficient time, but I find that this sort of collaboration is often more challenging than flying solo. You pulled it off with aplomb,” he complimented.

A tight smile creased Draco’s face. “I’ll grant you that we have found some… greater peace over the last couple of weeks.” He echoed his father’s shrug. “She’s less reticent lately. Warmer, more open. I’d say that she now considers me a friend.”

“Hm,” Lucius acknowledged.

“You seem to have something on your mind, Father. Spit it out,” Draco demanded.

“I’m, uh, not ready to share with you everything you want to know, Draco, but I am confident that time will come soon. You should just be aware that certain conditions – things that Hermione must do voluntarily – have been met, and there is but one left. Once that occurs, I will be in a position to… help you achieve your aims.”

When Draco opened his mouth, whether it was to question or protest, his father raised a hand to forestall any further discussion. Draco hated to admit that, after all these years, he would still obey that kind of subtle manipulation from the man.

“No, Draco. When it’s time, and not one minute before,” he stated firmly.

Their conversation was necessarily ended when Hermione and Narcissa joined them in the upper foyer, Louisa in tow.

“We didn’t change anything in the guest room, so other than some cleaning, that should be exactly as you remember it,” Hermione noted, bypassing the room and opening the door to Louisa’s new space.

Louisa tugged free of her mother’s hand and led the adults through the door, announcing, “My room!” loudly as she crossed the threshold.

Both grandparents oohed and ahhed over the new furniture, the unicorn mural that Draco had painted on the wall, and the play area that Hermione had delineated with a soft, thick area rug. This time, Louisa used the wooden step stool to climb up to her bed, and curled up with her head on the pillow.

“I think someone is telling us it’s time for her nap,” Draco noted, moving to remove Louisa’s shoes and cover her with a light blanket. He ensured that her favorite stuffed toy, Penelope the unicorn, was in easy reach, and then kissed her cheek. “Have a nice nap, sweetheart. Mummy and Papa will see you in a little while.”

Each of the adults gave their wishes for sweet dreams and the four of them quickly left the room, closing the door behind them.

“The only other space is the suite, which we’ve also left relatively unchanged,” Draco said.

Narcissa took Lucius’ hand as they approached the double doors. “When we were first married,” she confided to her son and Hermione, “this place was a real refuge for us. We used to spend hours upon hours talking and just being together in this sitting room.” Turning toward Hermione directly, she said, “I always loved this garden, particularly in the spring. I found it inspiring when I wanted to draw or write.”

“Oh,” Hermione interrupted, “is that where Draco gets his artistic talent?”

He was the one to answer her. “Absolutely. Mother always encouraged me to doodle, sketch, draw, and paint from the time I was very small. I find it very relaxing when I feel stressed,” he admitted.

“I wasn’t sure you’d done the mural yourself or hired someone, but you did do it,” she concluded, sounding a bit awed.

When he nodded his acknowledgement, she complimented him again. “It really is one of the loveliest murals I’ve seen.”

Meanwhile, Lucius glanced back and forth between the two bedroom doors, both now closed.

Draco cleared his throat uncomfortably, looking at the floor rather than at the others in the room. “We, uh, each like our rooms very well,” he lamely noted.

“I’m sure you do,” Lucius replied sardonically. “I recall both of them being quite comfortable.”

The reference was not lost. “Unlike this conversation,” Draco muttered.

“Yes, well, I do agree, Narcissa, that this window offers quite a lovely view and I’m sure that I’ll enjoy watching the plants and flowers bloom throughout the season,” Hermione interjected, hoping to draw the topics away from uneasy waters.

The elder Malfoys traded glances and came to their silent agreement that it was time to depart. Moving into the landing at the top of the staircase, Lucius waited as Narcissa made their excuses.

“Thank you so much for inviting us to join you here today. The meal was wonderful, and I’m so pleased with everything you’ve done to make this feel like a real home. I certainly hope you will be happy here,” she said.

What wasn’t at all clear as the pair departed was to whom, exactly, Narcissa had been referring.

“Well, that was awkward,” Draco commented, lifting an eyebrow to enhance his smirk.

“Just a bit,” Hermione agreed, then broke out into adolescent giggles.

“I don’t know about you, but I think I need a drink,” he replied. “Coffee, tea, something stronger…?”

“Oh, definitely something stronger,” she decided. “White wine, please.”

“Make yourself comfortable; I’ll be right back.”

Hermione kicked off her shoes and curled up on the sofa, a position and spot she’d come to claim as hers. As she thought about the morning’s events, she had to admit that Narcissa was right; the more time she and Draco spent together, the better their interactions were. They were learning how to work together well while finding the boundaries and parameters of their own relationship. It did seem, though, that those were rather fluid lately. She had to admit that the amount of time they’d spent in each other’s company had altered her perception of Draco for the better. He was becoming a wonderful father, and he was witty, smart, and considerate. As her dream had brought to the fore, she also admitted that he was a handsome young man. She was shaken from her musing as Draco returned with a bottle of wine and two goblets.

Two hours later, they’d dissected and debriefed the day’s events and concluded that it had been a success, even if Draco’s parents were a bit off their rockers. It was now after four o’clock, and time to awaken Louisa to prepare for their return to the Manor. Hermione had an early shift on Monday, and she’d also need some time to organize.

While she packed up the few items they’d brought to the townhouse, Draco roused Louisa, helped her with her toilette and gave her something to drink. Those tasks done, it was time to say goodbye, and both Draco and Hermione feared Louisa’s reaction. Again, Draco offered an idea to mitigate disaster.

“What if I come back to the Manor with you?” he suggested. “It won’t feel so abrupt for her to say goodnight rather than goodbye, I think.”

Hermione leapt at the offer. “I think you’ve just prevented a terrible two moment. I’ll take her bag if you carry her through, yeah?”

As Draco lifted Louisa, she wrapped her arms around his neck tightly and began dropping kisses all over his face. Draco wondered if anything had ever felt so wonderful and perfect.

“We’re all going to the Manor now,” he told her. “Time to go see Mémère and Pépère.”

“Okay, Papa,” she agreed, tucking her head under his chin, the curly tresses tickling him.

The trip through the Floo was as brief and uneventful as it always was, and when the three of them arrived at the Manor, they were greeted by Louisa’s house-elf nanny, Anjie, who gathered the child up as though she hadn’t seen her in a year. “I’ll bring Missy Louisa to her playroom,” she stated, and it seemed that Louisa was not opposed to the idea, following her without complaint.

Both parents heaved sighs of relief.

“That wasn’t so bad,” Draco observed.

“True, but you haven’t tried to actually say goodbye yet,” Hermione countered.

“If you have no objection, I’ll stay around for a while so that she’s not surprised by me ‘disappearing’ unexpectedly. I’d rather not be the cause of another tantrum,” he suggested.

“Why would I have any objection? And since your parents left so abruptly this afternoon, I’d guess they wouldn’t mind having a little more time with you.”

“You know why they left, don’t you?” he probed.

“Of course. I’m not blind. They want us to spend more time together so that we create a stronger bond for you and Louisa,” she explained.

“That’s certainly a big part of it,” he agreed, “but there’s more to it, and I don’t want you to be blind-sided.”

“Oh, that,” she replied.

“You remember that I said they were up to something, right?” he asked. At her confirming nod, he continued, “I still haven’t been able to find anything further to clarify what it is, and my parents aren’t talking. I just don’t want us to be uncomfortable with each other because of whatever delusion the two of them are suffering.”

Hermione grasped his arm in a friendly squeeze. “We’re getting along fine. I don’t allow other people’s agendas to influence how I feel and what I do. However it all works out, we’ll make our own decisions and find our own way. Now, if you’ll excuse me for a few minutes, I’d like to put Louisa’s things away and change into something more comfortable.” She patted his arm once more and left to complete her mission.

The family convened two hours later for a light supper of lamb stew and crusty bread, and soon it was bedtime for Louisa. Draco and Hermione joined in the process of getting her into her pajamas and reading a favorite story. It had been a long day for everyone and Louisa finally settled in to sleep without protest, after just one more hug and kiss from Mummy and Papa.

Noting that he still had a few chores to do at home, Draco said his goodbyes to his parents, and walked with Hermione to the Floo, discussing the week’s schedule of visits. Once they’d confirmed availability and locations, Draco bade her goodnight, leaning over to place a kiss on her cheek. He turned and stepped into the Floo, enunciating, “Malfoy Townhouse, London.”

As he arrived in his own foyer, Draco blanched and stopped in his tracks. “Oh shit, what have I done?”

On the other side of the connection, Hermione touched the spot he’d kissed, shrugged, and smiled slightly, strolling through the halls toward for bedroom for some rest and reflection. It had, indeed, been an eventful weekend.


	22. Value

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco's progress in Salem is cataloged while Hermione struggles with new pressures

Late January brought a brutal spell of cold weather to the north shore of Massachusetts, and Draco was anxious for the next two or three months to pass quickly. While the unpleasant conditions were motivation enough, the coming of spring would also mark the start of his final year in exile.

When he took the time to consider the progress he’d made in the nearly two-year stretch, he had to admit that it had been substantial and meaningful. As he considered each of the various commitments he’d undertaken which had vied for his attention and energy, he couldn’t help but feel a little bit of pride.

That contemplation had been prompted by Healer David Roy’s challenge to truly take stock of what he had achieved in the past year, and to create a list of goals – he hated the idea of “resolutions” marked solely by the change in the calendar, thus waiting ‘til the end of the month to issue his assignment – for his final year in Salem. They would be meeting in two days to discuss Draco’s conclusions and ideas.

In preparation, Draco was spending the bulk of his spare time (what little of it there was) scribbling thoughts and ideas into a spiral-bound notebook, one of a dozen or so that he’d bought at the Salem State student bookstore. While he had become reasonably competent at using the library’s free computers to type and edit his required term papers and assignments, he found that his creativity and ideation seemed to be better served when he put pen, or sometimes quill, to paper. This would become a habit that would follow him throughout his life.

He had divided his notes into six key sections, assigning the equivalent of about one foot of parchment apiece to catalog his progress and ambitions for the future. Since he found that he was either incapable of or unwilling to assign specific priority to any one segment over another, he decided to organize them alphabetically according to the names that he’d scribbled as each key segment had come to mind.

He wrote the word “Education” in the flowing cursive penmanship that he’d learned at the knee of his childhood tutor, and then started with a summary of each of the courses he’d completed along with his final grade in each. Draco then added the four courses that he’d begun just a couple of weeks earlier, including the term project that he was expected to complete for each. Finally, he listed the remaining eight courses that he needed to complete in order to earn his Bachelor of Science in Business Management degree. He took great satisfaction in noting that he was a little better than two-thirds done with his coursework, and had maintained his Dean’s List position with a 3.91 grade average after his grades from the Fall semester had been calculated.

He wasn’t particularly active in the social life at Salem State – truth be told, he didn’t have the time nor the inclination – but he’d gained a reputation as a diligent, thoughtful, and cooperative student. When group projects were assigned, as was quite common due to the nature of his major topic of study, he regularly had more than double the required number of offers to join his workgroup. One of his co-workers at the Grapevine with whom he also shared a handful of classes had teased him that the high ratio of females among them was as much owed to his good looks and charming British accent as to his academic prowess. The part of him that still harbored insecurities feared that his friend’s comments were at least partially true.

While Draco had a handful of ideas about his goals for the remainder of his academic career, the bulk of them were defined by the requirements of the degree path, so he felt that what he’d recorded was probably sufficient to account for his own needs as well as those of the assignment set to him by Dr. Roy.

Thus, the second topic to address was his “Feeding Families” project. In the few short months since he’d brought the idea to the management team at the Grapevine, he’d discovered that, while everyone with whom he’d discussed the idea thought it immensely worthwhile, it was not proving simple to implement. The research into laws, statutes and regulations alone had taken several weeks to document. Getting a firm handle on what all of them meant as a practical matter was another story, entirely. From local to state to federal, some were contradictory, some redundant, and others simply incomprehensible in their intent.

He’d been grateful that Bob Gotro’s retained attorney, while he hadn’t actively participated in uncovering the massive body of laws, had advised Draco where and how to research the material he’d need. He had also donated a number of hours to guide Draco in interpreting what it all meant once the basic research was complete.

Draco had, in the course of another four weeks, developed a reasonably clear understanding of what they would be allowed to do, what was prohibited, and what permits, documentation, and record-keeping would be required to get the idea from conception to execution. In the last two weeks, he’d begun the tedious process of completing permit applications, writing proposals which would then be reviewed and vetted by Bob’s attorney, and working with Bob and Chef Marcel to create their internal implementation plan.

He estimated that, if everything went as planned and there were few setbacks, they would be ready to begin active service in about six weeks. The response from agencies within the community had been uniformly positive; they simply insisted that all the proverbial I’s be dotted and T’s crossed to ensure that everyone involved was properly protected while those in need were served.

Draco’s accordion file of documents and notes on the project had grown to nearly five inches in thickness. While he doubted that there would be even a quarter of the concerns in the notoriously lax regulatory environment of the wizarding world, he hoped that all of the work that he’d done in preparation would mean that implementing the idea back home would be a less daunting process. He anticipated, too, that he’d have a least several months of hands-on experience in making the charitable effort work that would serve as an additional foundation for success when he initiated the program to focus on war orphans and needy families and squibs back in England.

He reflected that much of the project management skill that he’d learned during his coursework had served him extremely well in organizing the “Feeding Families” effort.

The symbiosis of his learning and its practical application was both satisfying and reinforcing. Draco was feeling that the direction of his life was finally beginning to take on some shape and definition. He’d be able to return to England with a solid skill set that, at the very least, would allow him to productively earn a living rather than live off of his family’s wealth. The need to do something of worth in and for wizarding society had become a driving theme as he began to define himself as Draco Malfoy, the person, rather than simply the son of war heroes, or the victim (and unwitting perpetrator) of horrifying manipulation.

That young man was still a work in progress, however, and that made the next category he’d listed somewhat difficult to cover. “Future Plans” could likely touch each of the other five topics in multiple ways, but much would depend on the reception he encountered upon his return to England. Draco knew that he’d have little control over the perceptions that would be held of him by the citizens of the wizarding world. There was no question that his parents’ roles in bringing the Second Wizarding War to a satisfying conclusion had ensured that the two of them were now held in high esteem by virtually everyone save the handful of racist purebloods who clung to old ways like the stench of death on Dementors. Most of that group, however, was either incarcerated in Azkaban II, the reconstructed prison on a slab of rock somewhere in the North Sea, or had fled wizarding Britain for points unknown. That didn’t mean, though, that a conservative element of society no longer existed. Many of those were families who maintained outward neutrality, eschewing Voldemort’s brutal methods, but still favored policies which gave precedence to those of long lineage and old money.

Draco knew that there would be people from every faction who were suspicious of his motives, actions, and beliefs. Ultimately, as he and Dr. David had discussed more than once, it was his own actions and choices in each moment that would define him. On a cosmic level, he believed that it was no accident that similar words had been attributed to Albus Dumbledore, who had played such a pivotal role in ensuring that his life had potential beyond what would surely have been the sentence of a Dementor’s Kiss. He resolved that this would be the last time he'd consider this issue; he would spend no more energy on worrying about his reception once he returned to England. His deeds would speak for themselves, and that would have to be enough to satisfy his detractors as well as his supporters. 

While he was certain that he wanted to do something that made a real difference to disadvantaged families and war orphans, in particular, he was concerned that the idea upon which he’d settled might be so foreign that it would be rejected out of hand. As far as he was able to plan for the future, Draco knew that he was committed to making a supreme effort to ensure that his goal to feed hungry children would succeed. If, in the end, it did not work, he would have the satisfaction of having put his entire heart and soul into the attempt. And he would find another endeavor to demonstrate his genuine desire to make his restitution to the society which had so mercifully given him a second chance at life. That wish was second only to his burning need to find some way to demonstrate to Hermione Granger that the astounding gift of forgiveness she had bestowed on him had not been wasted.

The future was not well-defined, but those two goals would be held paramount above all else, he vowed.

Success in the fourth category would be necessary for any of the others to reach their zeniths. Healer Roy would undoubtedly say that he’d made substantial progress in repairing his badly damaged “Mental Health” but it was a path that, in truth, had no termination.

Draco had worked diligently at understanding the sources and dynamics of the guilt, shame, and grief that had been all-consuming for so many months. He had made enormous strides in recognizing and accepting where the accountability for his action should rest, but he was a sensitive soul who would likely never fully absolve himself of all culpability. The horrific nightmares had largely stopped, and he’d finally pointed the bulk of his anger away from himself and toward the appropriate targets of Bellatrix and Rodolphus LeStrange.

The result, however, had been that he’d developed the tendency to be a bit suspicious and distrustful of anyone who exhibited characteristics that even hinted at subterfuge or hidden agendas. While it was understandable, Dr. David had reminded him that many people were reticent upon meeting someone new. If he made the effort to be open and warm, people would reciprocate.

Draco had a few acquaintances from work and school, but had protected himself to such a degree that, other than the Roy family, he was socially isolated to a high degree. Dr. Kate had noted that Draco unquestionably possessed the necessary social skills to engage in relationships; it seemed that he had simply chosen not to use them.

When pressed on this behavior, Draco confessed that his decision to remain solitary was rooted in two issues: first, he knew that his time in Salem was limited and he had every intention of returning to England as soon as his sentence was complete, and second, he believed that many of the people (read “women”) who had attempted to form friendships with him had very thinly veiled ulterior motives, and that was a game he was utterly unwilling to play. If that meant that his genuine friendships were limited to two small boys and their parents, so be it. When challenged on the apparent dependency that such a limited circle created, Draco was firm in stating that he was capable of expanding that group, and was willing to continue building his cadre of acquaintances; it was his choice to keep to himself.

Of course, the next category, “Sexuality,” tied to the previous one. In several sessions, Dr. Kate and Draco had processed the subtle but lasting impact that his upbringing and forced experiences had on his attitudes toward sex, intimacy, and physicality in general.

It was clear that Draco’s family was not especially progressive about either teaching or discussing sexuality, and that the bulk of his knowledge and experience prior to his virtual enslavement by his aunt and uncle was fairly tame. While Draco may have lost his virginity at a relatively young age, his behavior up to the point where he’d fallen under the insidious Imperius potion’s influence had been on par with his peer group.

Through long months of therapy and exercises, Dr. Kate had helped Draco to fill in the gaps in his knowledge of human sexuality and the normal functioning and needs of his own body. He recalled that she’d been surprised – though she’d tried her best to hide it – that he was reticent to even touch his own body in any kind of pleasing way. He remembered with a wry smile and a shake of his head the three weeks of exercises which had him simply sitting naked in his bed, touching his arms, legs, torso, and face. Back in the early stages of his sex therapy, that had one or twice resulted in some degree of arousal, which he had stoically ignored. Today, he wouldn’t be as likely to leave himself in pain or unsatisfied, but that didn’t mean he didn’t still experience some guilt or anxiety over allowing himself pleasure.

In months of conversations, he and Dr. Kate had come to explore and understand that his guilt was not over the general societal squeamishness around masturbation (he’d come to intellectually comprehend it as a very normal activity, practiced universally in human culture and, in fact, the great majority of the animal kingdom). His reluctance was still surrounded by the pain he’d unwittingly caused to so many and his feelings of unworthiness as a result. He was still, to some extent, punishing himself for something that hadn’t been his fault.

The second layer of guilt was tied directly to the lone source of his spontaneous fantasies and their natural result. It wasn’t that he couldn’t – or didn’t – find moments of pleasure in imagining Hermione Granger while his hand was wrapped around his cock; it was that he still couldn’t do it without feeling that twinge of remorse.

For Dr. Kate’s purposes, that had been defined as a reasonable level of success. It was certainly a vast improvement over months on end of complete abstinence and frigid showers. They’d keep working on it, Draco was certain, and as his achievements mounted in other areas, he began to believe that he might someday find enough self-worth to allow himself some untainted physical release. He recalled then that the only resolution he’d entertained at the conclusion of his disastrous New Year’s Eve outing was that this was the year he would find his way to orgasm without regrets. It was a promise to himself that he intended to keep.

The final category that Draco explored was “Work.” This was the area in which he felt he’d had the most ample and potentially lasting attainment. He’d had four promotions and corresponding pay increases in just under two years. As Dr. David had teased a couple of weeks earlier, this truly was no small feat. He readily recognized how much he had learned and how far he had come. While years of study in Potions had probably laid a solid foundation for many of the techniques he employed each day, the materials and tools were vastly different. He’d had to learn, for all intents and purposes, a new language in the kitchen, and he’d successfully translated that into a burgeoning career that would certainly provide the basis for the charitable endeavor on which he was so focused, but also could serve as his ultimate career choice, at least for a number of years.

He thought about the suggestion that he’d made to Chef Marcel just last week, and he’d been thrilled to learn that morning that the Chef had loved the thought and planned to implement it shortly. It meant that the three primary station cooks, himself included, would rotate assignments every three or four months to round out their training and experience. It would be the equivalent of a full year at a culinary institute, and would ensure that all three young cooks would become highly marketable and valuable.

In exchange for the advanced training, Chef Marcel had asked each of the other two cooks for a commitment that they stay with the Grapevine for a minimum of one year after their rotations were complete; they had both eagerly agreed. Draco recognized that the knowledge that he’d only be in Salem for another fourteen months was something upon which Chef Marcel didn’t like to dwell. It was clear that the man with the gruff exterior and a heart as soft as a marshmallow had come to truly like Draco and thought of him as his protégé. Draco had to admit that, if pressured, he’d probably need to count the elder wizard as another one of those “close friends” that Dr. Kate was constantly encouraging him to develop, not in the traditional sense as a buddy, but as a genuine mentor and role model.

When all of his introspective cataloguing was complete, Draco felt that it had been a valuable exercise. While it had undoubtedly uncovered a number of areas which still needed further progress, the process had also made it clear that he’d come a long way from the broken and heart-sick young man who’d arrived in Salem nearly two years prior. He believed that the discussion with Dr. David would be a productive session, if he could get past the nagging feeling that something still wasn’t adding up for him.

XXXXX

Louisa was whimpering piteously; at just over one year old, she was deep into the process of having all of her baby teeth come in, and it was an uncomfortable process. Having run out of the numbing potion that was typically used to ease her daughter’s pain, and which took four hours to brew, a frazzled Hermione had resorted to a soft, wet washcloth, imbued with a freezing charm. It helped a bit, but wasn’t as complete a solution as the potion would have been.

Problems compounded on top of issues and commitments, and her pride was a clear detriment to finding a quick and simple solution to the situation. Hermione hadn’t had time to brew the potion because she was in the midst of writing a critical project document for her “Comparative Potions and Therapies for Spell-Induced Psychoses” class, which had both practical and theoretical elements required. It was a monster and it was due in two days, which meant that spending four hours standing over a cauldron for the simple yet labor-intensive concoction was simply not in the cards. The idea that she had time to pop over to the apothecary was equally laughable. She just hated the idea of asking either Narcissa - or, Merlin forbid, Anjie – to do it for her. Louisa was her responsibility, though, and to see the child in discomfort made her conclude that she was a horrible, neglectful parent.

Adding to Hermione’s massive self-induced guilt trip was the fact that Louisa had, three weeks earlier, taken her first unassisted steps and she had not been there to witness the event. Lucius’ Pensieve memories were nice to view, but they were no replacement for being able to catch Louisa in her own arms as she wobbled unsteadily across the room. When the realization struck her that this was exactly the dimmed picture to which she was condemning the absent father of the girl, the remorse she felt was enough that she momentarily questioned the wisdom of her decision to keep Draco Malfoy in the dark about Louisa’s existence.

She’d gone so far as to confide in Ginny and Luna that her resolve to maintain the secret until Draco’s return in fourteen months was wavering.

Both had listened sympathetically to Hermione’s concerns, but hadn’t offered advice beyond suggesting that she follow her heart and that she swallow at least a little bit of pride to take advantage of the help and resources that were so readily available to her. Their sentiments were welcome, but did little to make Hermione feel in better control of the circumstances and situations surrounding her. Since her well-known penchant for being a control-freak had begun when they were all little more than children, none of Hermione’s friends held out much hope that her behavior would take such a significant turn any time soon.

Thus, Ginny and Luna had gone behind Hermione’s back to Narcissa, keeping their friend’s confidence about her wavering commitment to the secret to which they were all party, but sharing that the young woman was becoming overwhelmed with all of the obligations for which she was accountable. Narcissa had responded by subtly stepping up her vigilance on little things – like potion supplies and logistics issues – that Hermione typically insisted upon handling on her own. Without letting the younger witch know, she had relieved some of her more tedious duties to ensure that the time spent with her daughter was of high quality, if not the quantity she’d prefer.

The other Slytherin-worthy decision Narcissa had made, with Lucius’ full agreement and support, was to fail to notify Hermione of specific feats and milestones that Louisa performed when she was not present to observe them. They reasoned that each would be repeated, and there was no harm done if Hermione believed that she was witnessing a first rather than a second or third occurrence. Those little white lies might, in the longer run, help to save the young mother’s sanity and keep her burden of guilt to a minimum.

The Malfoys’ benevolent interference had made a positive difference as the weeks ticked by, and Hermione’s heavy workload ensured that there was not enough time for her to notice the tiny conveniences which threatened to be crushing had they not been handled on her behalf. Chores such as laundry and tidying that might have occupied significant time and energy were lessened by half - or more – but not enough for the still-overburdened Healer-in-Training to notice the manipulation. Only when her mid-term examinations were looming and her revision time threatened to cut further into her few hours with Louisa did Hermione wonder if one of the house-elves might have stepped in to aid her without having been asked.

Narcissa had once questioned her about what appeared to be an utterly crushing workload in her coursework.

“I don’t understand, dear, why the volume of material is so vast and why you have so many assignments,” the elder witch had wondered.

Hermione had sipped the tea that had gone cold, grimaced, and waved her wand to reheat it. Pushing the textbook that sat in her lap away for a moment, she sighed. “There are several reasons, and they tend to compound each other. First, Mind Healers, like all senior Healers, have to complete the entire range of coursework for all of the fundamental healing disciplines. That means everything from anatomy through diagnostic tools to treatment strategies for the whole range of human illnesses and injuries. Layer on top of that all of the magically induced problems from spell damage to potion overdoses and interactions. Then, realize that you are completing all of that study – including the practicums – in less than half the time that Muggles study to become doctors. And, just to add one more cherry on top of the cake, they’ve decided to add some of the more common Muggle diagnostic and treatment protocols, particularly in the Mind Healing discipline. I think that should give you a bit of an idea about why it’s all so… intense.”

Narcissa stared at Hermione with her mouth agape. “Why in Merlin’s name would they choose to approach it this way? It really doesn’t make much sense to abuse the students to such a degree,” she had proclaimed, feeling indignant over the ludicrous amount of pressure placed upon the trainees.

Hermione had smiled tightly and nodded. “Again, there are a couple of reasons for the strategy, some which make sense and others… well, let’s just say that they could have been better considered.” She’d shifted her position in the chair, finally removed the heavy tome from her lap and placed it on the side table. Her brains and body needed the ten-minute break. “They want to be sure that each of the students is thoroughly committed to the process because it can be a very high-stress career, especially for those who ultimately choose specialties such as Emergency Magical Medicine. If you can’t handle the training, they tell you, you’ll never make it in the profession. I do think there’s some merit to that, based on what I’ve seen in some of my practicum assignments. One of the other issues, though – which I do think deserves some rethinking – is that they keep adding new required material to the curriculum year after year without ever adjusting the length of the program. As new discoveries are made, whether in disease or its treatment, that information is just piled on top of the existing topics. Sooner or later, something’s going to have to shift, or no one – not even the very brightest – will be able to handle it.”

“There is no doubt in my mind, Hermione, that if you are struggling to keep up, that there are very few who are going to be successful,” Narcissa had observed.

Hermione blushed and smiled at the compliment. “Well, we have lost a third of the original class already. But, you must also remember that my last couple of years of education were not typical of what most people experience.”

“That’s true, but I’d venture a guess that the things you learned throughout your research were immensely valuable. And, I’d feel quite certain in saying that your classmates’ education was probably interrupted to at least as great a degree as your own. Only if they attended magical academies other than Hogwarts would they have any advantage over you,” Narcissa noted.

“And about half of the remaining group are from magical schools all over Europe. Those students are performing at least as well as I am, and a bit better in a few cases,” she had acknowledged.

Narcissa reached out and squeezed Hermione’s hand. “I must tell you, darling, that hearing this, my respect and admiration for you have leapt to another level. You know that I think you are a remarkable, wonderful young woman, and the commitment you’ve demonstrated in this endeavor makes me believe you are virtually super-human. You never cease to amaze me.” With that, she had risen from her settee and leaned over to press a motherly kiss to Hermione’s forehead.

“I think I’ll go see to dinner and leave you to your work for now, but just remember one important thing: If you don’t take care of yourself, there’ll be nothing left of you to take care of others.”

Hermione had thought long and hard about Narcissa’s parting comment, and concluded that it held a substantial degree of truth. When she was at her most exhausted was also when she was at her least capable to deal with the daily frustrations and requirements. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to ask for a bit of help now and then.

XXXXX

This was going to be an incredibly busy day, Draco anticipated. His schedule was packed from early morning to late evening, and while some of his obligations were routine, others were more pivotal. His first appointment of the day was indicative.

Draco, dressed in well-pressed black trousers, a crisp white oxford shirt, accented by a red paisley tie, knocked on the door to Bob Gotro’s office. At his boss’ invitation to enter, he noted that Chef Marcel had already arrived and was seated in one of the three wooden office chairs that faced Bob’s desk. They exchanged greetings and Draco took a seat beside his mentor.

Bob spoke first. “Thanks for coming so early, Draco. I expect that Bill should be here momentarily, and we can get started. I don’t think this will take more than a half-hour, so you should have plenty of time to get to your class.”

“Thanks, Bob. I’m eager to hear what Bill has to say about all the materials I sent him,” Draco said.

Chef Marcel clapped him on the back genially. “From what I read in the copy you gave me, I think everything is in great shape, kid,” he replied, pride evident in his voice.

Before Draco could express his appreciation for the vote of confidence, a knock on the door heralded the arrival of Bill LeBlanc, the attorney who’d been guiding his efforts to get the “Feeding Families” project off the ground.

Bill was tall and slim with graying brown hair and dark brown eyes, often shielded by reading glasses. He was generally a quiet, serious man, but a shy smile was not unusual when he was pleased about something. When he entered the office, his grin was broad and ebullient.

He reached out to shake hands with each of the men who’d arrived before him, taking Draco’s hand last and clasping the young man’s shoulder in a paternal gesture.

“I’ve got to be in court for nine, so let’s dive in,” he suggested.

Draco held his breath for a moment, anxious to know whether his efforts had been sufficient and acceptable. He turned his attention to the packets that Bill was distributing.

“These are copies of Draco’s proposals and permit applications for your records. Young man,” he said, now turning to face Draco directly, “you have done a remarkable job in crafting these proposals. They are thorough, accurate, and cover just about all of the contingencies and issues that I’ve been able to anticipate. There was just one document that I had to add, and it’s something fairly minor that I overlooked in my initial review. Honestly, I can’t foresee any objections or problems with obtaining the approvals you’ll need, based on the quality and comprehensiveness of your documentation. Well done, son, indeed.”

Draco beamed with pride. “Thank you, Mr. LeBlanc. I did put quite a bit of effort into this, so I’m thrilled that you think it’s good work.”

“Nonsense, Draco, this was no small feat. What you’ve done here required the patience of Job and the brains of Einstein, just about. You should be very, very proud,” he retorted.

While the references were lost on Draco, their inference was not. He flushed and muttered his thanks once again. “So, what do we have to do now?” he probed.

“The last thing we need is the money for the permit applications, which,” he consulted his notes, “should be about $650.”

Draco paled slightly. He’d certainly been doing better financially in light of the raises he’d had, but that was not an amount he’d be able to pay without causing himself some short-term hardship. As he opened his mouth to ask about time to gather the funds, Bob raised a hand to interrupt.

“I’ve got that,” he firmly stated. Turning to Draco, he said, “First of all, you’ve done all of the heavy lifting in figuring out how to do this. Second, this program will bring a lot of positive publicity to the restaurant. It’d cost me triple that to pay for even a week’s advertising in any of the local papers.”

“Thank you, Bob,” Draco acknowledged gratefully.

“That actually works well for the way we want to establish the 501(c),” Bill offered. He explained, “That’s the legal entity that’s behind the charitable organization. It’s the document that I mentioned earlier, which I had neglected to tell you about. I’ve added it to the end of Draco’s materials.”

“So, we’re good to go?” Draco asked.

“Yes. Once Bob gives me a check, I’ll file all of the permit requests on your behalf, then we’ll schedule the final meeting with the City Council. Should take about four or five weeks to get the rest of the details ironed out, but I’d say you can start work on the background things now. You’ve already determined space and materials, so we’re in good shape.”

Each of the men concluded by congratulating Draco on his effort and achievement, and determined that they’d reconvene in a few days to deal with additional details and final preparation for the Council meeting. Draco thanked each of them for their confidence in him and their support of the mission he brought to their attention. They parted when Draco noted the time and his need to get to class across town in twenty minutes. He’d have to catch the next express bus if he wanted to arrive on time.

Several hours later, Draco had attended two classroom lectures, met for an hour with the project group for his Business Processes class, and put in a four-hour shift at the restaurant. It was now just before eight, and he had to get to Boston to meet Dr. David by 8:15 p.m. He’d have to move quickly – he’d heard one of his co-workers use the term “haul ass” – to get back to the house and fire up the Floo.

At 8:13, Draco, slightly disheveled in comparison to his neat-as-a-pin appearance twelve hours earlier, stumbled through the connection into his therapists’ office. It dawned on him that he hadn’t had anything to eat since grabbing a chicken sandwich at the cafeteria for lunch, so he dug through the pockets of his backpack (he’d discovered that the nylon and canvas bag was ubiquitous and necessary for college students) to see if he might have left a power bar in one of them. In a great stroke of luck, he found one, although its wrapper was slightly worse for wear, at the bottom of the main compartment. He gobbled it down in a flash, finishing just seconds before Dr. David poked his head into the waiting room and welcomed him in.

“Come on back, Draco,” he invited.

Shifting his bag onto his shoulder and taking a gulp from the water bottle he’d stowed in the side pocket, Draco followed his healer into the office that had now become as much a refuge as it was a challenge.

“Make yourself comfortable. Coffee?” David offered.

“No, thanks. I’ll be up all night if I drink caffeine this late,” he answered. “I’ve got water, anyway.”

“Okay, then let’s dive in,” David suggested, pouring a cup of the strong, dark brew for himself. “I read over the notes you sent me through the Floo. Quite comprehensive, I must say.”

“I invested a good amount of time on it,” Draco said with a shrug. “Seemed to be an important exercise. So, what did you think?”

David Roy laughed outright at that. “Oh, come on, Draco. You know better than that by now. This isn’t about what I think; it’s about what you think. So let’s turn that question right back around.”

Draco flushed and grinned. “As I said, I put a lot of time and effort into it. It took me longer to do than I expected it would when you gave me the assignment,” he observed.

“Why do you think that happened?” David probed.

“Well, once I figured out the categories that I wanted to include, it wasn’t always easy to figure out what should go where. I mean, everything seemed to apply to everything else.”

“What did that prompt you to do?”

“I realized that it would be pointless to try to force my thinking into narrow categories, so I hit the broad themes in each section, and where it seemed appropriate, I expanded details of a goal or an accomplishment where it seemed to fit best. I stopped trying to pin things down so specifically,” he answered.

“What did you learn by doing that?” the therapist pressed.

“The most obvious thing was that everything I do seems to affect everything else I do, whether immediately or sometime later. That affect can be enormous or very small, but it’s there in some way.”

“Can you give me an example?”

Draco thought for a moment, then offered the most top-of-mind answer. “Sure. I think the project I’m working on to create the ‘Feeding Families Foundation’ is a solid example. It covers my work, mental health, my education, and my future plans. I think the only thing it doesn’t touch specifically is my sexuality.”

“Can you think of a way that it might have an impact in that area?” David challenged.

“I don’t know,” he stalled. “Maybe if it’s successful, it will help my self-esteem which will, in turn, help my general mental health. That could then have a positive result on my sexual health,” Draco postulated.

“Okay, great. So to summarize, you learned that everything you do touches everything else you do in some way. Is that an accurate representation of what you said?”

“Yes, I’d say it is,” Draco answered.

“Terrific,” David said, scribbling a few notes onto his legal pad. “What else did you learn?”

“I guess I was a bit surprised by how much I have managed to get done in the nearly two years that I’ve been here,” he replied.

“What does that mean to you?”

“I think it means that I’m not quite as screwed up as I was when I got here,” he answered.

David peered at him over his reading glasses. “What else? And cut the crap with the false modesty.”

Draco shook his head. “No, not false. Just being realistic. I know I’ve made some good progress, but I feel like I have a long way to go.”

David was now the one shaking his head. “You wrote this report, right?”

“Of course.”

“How many pages?”

“About a dozen, maybe a couple more.”

“And how many of those were devoted specifically and solely to goals for the future in any of the sections?”

“I’d say maybe five,” Draco acknowledged.

“So that means that seven or more pages were, what, doodles, scribbles and drawings?”

“Uh, no.”

“So what were they?”

“They were a listing of the things I’ve done in the past two years,” Draco answered in a murmur.

“The things you’ve ‘done’ or the things you’ve ‘accomplished’?” David pushed.

“Okay, okay. It’s hard for me to look at it that way,” he confessed.

“Why?”

“Because I feel like I’m just doing repair work to set myself back to zero sum. Until then, it feels wrong to accept that what I’ve accomplished, to use your word, means very much.”

“So you think you’re still clawing your way out of the hole,” David summarized.

Draco shrugged. “Pretty much.”

David handed the document Draco had prepared back to him. “Look at that. On what planet do those things not add up to true successes?”

He scanned the things he’d written, and had to admit that the list was not inconsequential.

“Here’s the thing, Draco. You aren’t required to stack up every good thing you’ve done against every bad thing you were forced to do, like they’re off-setting entries on some kind of balance sheet. Each step you take stands on its own merits. I know you’ve talked about your desire to atone for some of what you did, and that’s a laudable goal, on its face, but your penance is being paid every day. Each moment that you’re here, trying to do better than you did the day before, is enough. What you’ve been trying to do is to pay back on Bella’s sins, and as far as I know, there’s no jury on the planet and no God in any heaven who would ask that of you. You want to do good things? Do good things. But do them because, in your heart, you want to do them, not because you feel you must do them.”

Draco finally made real eye contact with David. “I’m really hard on myself, aren’t I?” he asked.

“Harder than anyone I’ve ever known,” David agreed.

“What does that say about me?” he wondered aloud.

“What do you think it says about you?” David tossed back.

“What I hope is says is that there’s a decent person under all of this dysfunction. What I fear it says is that I’m too screwed up to ever get it right,” he admitted.

“If you’re asking directly for my personal opinion, you know I won’t come out and say it, but let me ask you this: Do you think I’d still be working with you, or that I’d let you near my kids if I thought it was the latter?”

Draco snorted a laugh. “When you put it that way, I’d say that would make you sicker than me.”

“Ding, ding, ding! And we’ve got a winner,” David scoffed.

“So how do I learn how to lighten up on myself?” Draco asked.

David shook his head. “I can’t tell you how to do that. It’s something that can only come from inside of you. You have to find your own value under the dirt you’ve used to bury yourself. Maybe, though, you could use some of those accomplishments,” he nodded toward the stack of paper in Draco’s hand, “as a shovel. That wouldn’t be a bad place to start.”

XXXXX

Weeks later, after meetings and conferences, presentations and public hearings, Draco heard final word from Bill LeBlanc that the last of the necessary permits had finally been approved. In addition to the required publication of permit requests and hearings, the local newspaper, the Salem News, had interviewed him, Chef Marcel and Bob Gotro about the planned program, particularly wondering about what had prompted the idea to serve needy North Shore families in this way.

Draco had told them about the young children he’d seen a few months earlier at the playground who’d not had enough to eat, and how it had moved and motivated him to do something to help. “I grew up in an affluent home, but circumstances in my life changed to the point that I understood what it meant to be hungry, and when I saw that there were children suffering that fate, I knew that I couldn’t stand by and allow that to happen. I’m so grateful to Bob and Chef Marcel for listening to my concerns and giving me the resources and guidance necessary to bring our mutual vision to fruition. I hope that families in Salem and the surrounding towns will find the Feeding Families Foundation a useful resource. We further hope that other restaurants in the area will join us in ensuring that no child on Massachusetts’ North Shore ever goes hungry,” he was quoted as saying.

Chef Marcel and Bob had recounted how Draco had come to them, so full of ambition and passion for his idea, and they had seen in his proposal an opportunity to do some good for the community that had made their business so successful. Both men shared how Draco’s singular focus had really made the idea work; they’d offered support, both moral and financial, but the idea and its execution truly belonged to the young man who had come to their doorstep in search of a dishwashing job two years earlier. “One of the best hiring decisions I’ve ever made was to take on this remarkable young man. He’s become a key part of our organization, while also maintaining a full course load at Salem State, where he’s studying business management. Whatever he ultimately chooses to do, Chef Marcel and I believe that Draco Malfoy has a very bright future ahead of him,” Bob had told the reporter.

The publicity had been instrumental in gaining attention for the endeavor, and now they were ready to welcome their first guests. On that evening, Draco Malfoy’s self-esteem received a well-deserved boost.


	23. Whimsy

A few weeks later – May 22, 2005

Southern England was in the midst of an unusual heat wave when the members of the extended Malfoy family gathered for their weekly Sunday brunch at Malfoy Manor. While the brunch at Draco’s London townhouse had been a success, it had not yet been repeated. The routine of gathering in Wiltshire had been reestablished, although Hermione and Louisa’s visits to the townhouse had increased. Weekend sleepovers had become fairly regular, with the three of them traveling to the Manor by Floo on Sunday mornings.

With the weather being so lovely, Narcissa had set the brunch in the gardens rather than the dining room, and they were all enjoying the unseasonably warm sunshine. The adult ladies sipped champagne with orange juice while the gentlemen enjoyed coffee laced with brandy. Louisa, sitting on Draco’s lap, sipped her cup of milk.

The conversation had been light and easy among the group, topics ranging from the previous week’s activities to the latest gossip from friends. Upon hearing from Draco that he’d received an owl from former school-mate Blaise Zabini indicating that he’d be coming back to England for a visit, Narcissa posed a question.

“Have you given any thought, darling, to what you want to do for your birthday in a couple of weeks?”

Draco seemed surprised by his mother’s question. “I honestly haven’t given it any thought at all. I’ve been so busy with working on setting up the foundation that I completely forgot about it. Honestly, it's no big deal, anyway,” he asserted.

Hermione joined the conversation with a question of her own. “You’re going to be turning twenty-five, aren’t you?”

He nodded in acknowledgement. “I haven’t done much to mark my birthday over the last few years, other than Mother and Father coming to visit for a couple of days in Salem. It’s not important.”

“Sure it is,” she protested. “You’ve been back for several weeks now, and you’ve not done anything except spend time with us and work on the foundation. You should do something fun. Spend an evening with some old friends.”

He shrugged in response. “I haven’t been in contact with anyone except for an owl or two from Blaise. He’s only going to be in town for a short visit. I haven’t spoken to anyone else in… years,” he confessed.

Lucius turned to his son. “Theo Nott is still in town. His family was not involved on the dark side, and he’s a pleasant young man.”

Hermione’s expression turned sheepish. “In fact, I saw him not long ago at the apothecary in Diagon Alley,” Hermione related. “He was very nice, and mentioned that he’d seen the announcement that we put in the Daily Prophet. He did ask me to send his regards. I’m so sorry; it completely slipped my mind.”

Draco waved a hand in dismissal. “Don’t worry about it. It’s been a very busy time for us, getting acclimated to our new, uh, situation.”

“Still, I feel awful that I forgot,” Hermione replied.

In response, Draco smirked at her. “Chill. Not a thing.”

Narcissa regained Draco’s attention with another query. “Do you think Blaise would still be in town in two weeks, Draco?”

“I don’t know, Mother. He said it was going to be a short visit, but whether that means a few days or a few weeks, I couldn’t say. It was an owl, not a conversation.”

Hermione cleared her throat. “Will you allow me to do something for you, Draco?”

He quirked his eyebrow at her in a silent question.

“Well, let me amend that. Let me do something for you that would also be for me,” she began. “Before you came back, we used to host a monthly get-together for my friends, and things have just been too, uh, hectic to do that for the last couple of months. I just thought that I could organize a small gathering with a few of your friends and a few of mine. Your twenty-fifth is a milestone birthday, and it would be a great excuse to do it. What do you think?” She looked at him hopefully.

“I don’t have any particular objection to it, but will your friends want to be anywhere within ten miles of me?” he worried.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “My friend are grown-ups, Draco, and they understood the situation and didn’t judge you negatively for it. There were a couple of them who were more upset with me for not telling you what had happened. I just thought that since we’re going to be in each other’s orbits for a long time to come, it would make sense to get a little more comfortable with each other’s friends. Anyway, I could do with a little fun to blow off some steam. We could do it at the townhouse. It’ll be fun. Please?”

Draco twisted his lips and crossed his arms over his chest. He was finding it impossible to refuse her. “As long as your friends don’t outnumber mine by more than two to one, I’ll deal with it. You aren’t thinking about a large group, are you? I can’t count more than three or four people whom I’d really care to include from my old chums.”

She shook her head. “No, very small. No more than ten people, including the two of us. I was thinking probably the Potters, Ginny Weasley, and Neville Longbottom. I think you know that Ginny and Neville are Louisa’s godparents, so you should get to know them anyway. Just let me know who you’d like to invite, and I’ll send the notes.”

“I’ll agree to that,” he said. “Probably Theo, Blaise, Pansy, if she’s in town, and maybe Daphne Greengrass.”

Narcissa interjected, “Daphne and Theo are actually engaged, dear, so that would work. And although Pansy is married, her husband travels quite a lot for business, I hear. He’s a bit older than her and has a very successful consulting firm.”

“So Pansy’s still playing Lady of the Manor,” Draco scoffed. “No surprise there. Still, it’d be a hoot to see her. Even if she could be a pain in my arse, she was one of the people who tried to tell me something was off, way back when. I’ll give her credit for that.”

“Okay, so that sounds like the complete guest list. We can make this a grown-ups only party for once. I thought we could do it in two weeks, whatever that Saturday is,” Hermione suggested.

“I think that’s June fourth,” Lucius commented.

“We’d be delighted to stay here with Louisa for that night, then we’ll have a special brunch on the following day to celebrate with just the family,” Narcissa suggested.

“Come on, all of you, you’re making a bigger deal out of this than it needs to be,” Draco complained, uncomfortable with the idea of that much effort and attention on his behalf.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hermione chided. “You only turn twenty-five once. Besides, I’m being selfish, too. I want to see my friends and this makes a great opportunity.”

“Fine,” he finally agreed. “I guess it could be fun,” he mumbled as a follow-up.

Hermione clapped her hands together and squealed, causing Louisa to giggle in response. She immediately dove into planning mode, rattling off ideas and options, trying to draw Draco into the discussion. While her enthusiasm for the gathering clearly out-stripped his by a long mile, it was hard to not get caught up by her zeal. Before long, they’d settled on a menu for dinner. Still to be determined was a theme or activity for the party other than a simple birthday celebration. Unable to come to a conclusion, they agreed to give it further thought and regroup in a day or two.

The remainder of the afternoon was spent in outdoor pursuits, taking advantage of the longer hours of daylight as much as the warm temperatures. Draco had taken to the skies for a couple of hours of broom flight, Narcissa and Hermione had taken Louisa for rides on her little pony, and Lucius had caught up on reading and correspondence while enjoying a libation or two in the formal garden.

As evening approached, Draco returned from his vigorous hours of flight dripping in sweat and with a grin so broad that he seemed to have lost five years of his age. As exhausted as he was exhilarated, he dropped into one of the wrought iron chairs near the table where Hermione and Louisa were drawing pictures of flowers. He peeled off his flying gloves and slumped against the back of the chair, stretching his long, lean legs in front of him.

Louisa took that as an invitation and clambered down from her own seat to climb into Draco’s lap. “Papa all wet and stinky,” she proclaimed, wrinkling her nose. It didn’t appear, though, that she was too terribly offended as she made no move to relinquish her spot.

Hermione laughed heartily as she took in the scene. “You are pretty sweaty, Mr. Malfoy,” she observed. “I don’t plan to get close enough to evaluate your stinkiness, so I’ll take her word for it.”

Louisa threw her arms around Draco’s neck and whispered into his ear. Draco pulled back slightly to look at her and shake his head in a gesture of refusal. She nodded in response, crawled down from his lap and tugged at his hand. He responded, albeit a bit reluctantly, by following wherever she was intent on taking him. Hermione watched the scene with amusement and curiosity.

Their destination turned out to be a mere four feet away. Louisa led Draco directly to her mother, climbed onto her lap, and said, “He’s a good kind of stinky, Mummy.”

Although she was a bit surprised, Hermione didn’t want to upset Louisa nor did she want to hurt Draco’s feelings by refusing to be in his proximity. So she stood and awkwardly hugged him, pulling away with cheeks as pink as Narcissa’s tea roses.

Looking everywhere but directly at Draco, Hermione admitted, “You’re right, sweetie, Papa isn’t a bad stinky. But he is awfully wet. I think he forgot to take off his clothes and went swimming instead of flying.” She thought the deflection was enough to keep the awkward moment light.

Draco finally caught Hermione’s eye and mouthed, “I’m sorry” to her, looking as though he wanted to crawl under a rock.

Hermione felt terrible that he’d been pressured. She squared her shoulders, waved him off and leaned in to whisper so that Louisa wouldn’t hear. “You know, it’s dawning on me that we’re going to be spending a lot of time together if we’re going to share our daughter the way we’ve agreed to do. We’re all very demonstrative and loving with Louisa and she expects that we’re that way with each other. Merlin, even your father hugs me on occasion. We’re friends, so we should be able to get within a couple of feet of each other without freaking out.”

Draco just nodded, then got a devilish look in his eye and grinned. He took one step and wrapped his arms around her from behind. “So this would be okay?”

She shrieked and twisted to face him. “Well, I suppose, but you are sweaty and a little… ripe, so I request that you release me until you’ve had a good, thorough shower,” she scolded, but the wry smile she bestowed on him told the truth of her ribbing.

Releasing her and raising his hands in surrender, Draco backed away slowly. “No more sweaty hugs. I’m going to take a shower,” he state, adopting a guileless expression.

“You do that,” Hermione retorted. “Narcissa went to get dinner organized, so we’ll meet you in the dining room in about an hour.”

“Okay,” he called over his shoulder. “See you there.” The lightness in his step, he hoped, was only obvious to himself.

Dinner was a fairly routine affair, although there were frequent chuckles as Louisa kept repeating, “Papa sweaty and stinky,” as though it were her new mantra.

Since the flush in Draco’s cheeks had not once subsided, Hermione finally pleaded with Louisa to stop. “You’re embarrassing Papa, sweetie. It’s time to stop that now,” she said sternly.

He waved it off, protesting that he wasn’t at all embarrassed by her teasing.

“So what has you all pink in the face?” Hermione challenged jokingly.

“Has nothing to do with a little teasing. I took a very hot shower,” he excused with a shrug.

His father’s answering snort of either amusement or disbelief – it was hard to read – was met with a withering glare from his son.

“What?” Hermione questioned.

Draco shook his head and sent her a slightly less intimidating stare. “Nothing. Not a single thing.” His father’s smirk had, if anything, intensified. Draco was irritated that his father seemed to know him just a little too well. He really didn’t need this conversation to be extended. It was his own damned fault, however. He should have known better than to take a little extra personal time under the hot, soothing spray. So much for the tell-tale flush in his cheeks.

In an attempt to derail any further forays into humiliating territory, Draco changed the subject with a question to Hermione. “Have you given any additional thought to exactly what you want to do for my celebration on the fourth?” he asked.

“So you’ve decided to embrace the idea?” Hermione needled in reply.

“Well, not exactly, although I guess there have been worse ideas. Actually, I want to be sure that it’s not going to be anything too elaborate or outlandish. My hope is that you’ll keep it simple.”

“What’s your idea of ‘elaborate or outlandish’?” she wondered.

“Anything that involves costumes, props, or rules,” he explained.

Hermione seized the opportunity. “Okay, so you want Quidditch off the list of possibilities. Got it.”

Draco spluttered. “No! I mean, Quidditch would be all right, I guess.”

“You said no rules or props. Memory seems to tell me that both are involved in that activity,” she replied in a tone that invited him to contradict her.

“Maybe I spoke too hastily,” he back-peddled.

“No, no, I think you were right. We should keep it low-key and simple.” Her eyes were bright with mischief.

Draco threw his hands up in defeat. “Somehow I’ve just managed to gain an agreement to not do the one thing that might have actually been a lot of fun,” he said with a groan.

Hermione reached over and squeezed the hand that he’d dropped onto the table. “Don’t worry; I’m sure we’ll come up with something that will keep everyone entertained. We’ve already decided on doing a barbecue if the weather holds out, so maybe we can just stick to drinks and conversation,” she suggested.

“And cake,” he interjected eagerly. “No matter what else we do, I must insist on cake.”

“Any preferences?” Narcissa asked. “I can arrange for the house-elves to make something for you and bring it over.”

Surprising everyone who knew his history, Draco answered, “Chocolate. With chocolate ganache.”

His mother swallowed a gasp, which Draco did not fail to notice.

He reached across the table and tool her hand in his. “Mother, chocolate never did anything bad to me. I’ve made my peace with that. I enjoy the taste, and while I don’t have it often, for the last few months I’ve been enjoying it now and then as a special treat. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

When he squeezed her hand lightly, she returned the gesture. “You are a remarkable young man, son, and you’ve managed to stun me once again with your resilience.”

He shrugged at her compliment. “Mother, if I want to have a life, what else could I do? I’ve been on the opposite end of this road, and I’m far from perfect, but this is a good place for me to be.”

Hermione watched the exchange between mother and son, noting the quiet strength and confidence that Draco had displayed. This was more evidence that the time he spent in Salem – and the obvious effort that he’d expended – had truly been good for him. He’d become someone who deserved admiration, she thought, not just for the great distance he’d traveled in his recovery, but for the honest and substantive goals he’d crafted for himself in the process. As his gaze finally drifted away from his mother, she smiled at him warmly. He acknowledged the gesture with a nod and smile, leaning back in his chair and taking a sip from his wine glass.

Soon, it was time for Louisa to prepare for bed, and both of her parents cooperated to get her washed, dressed in her pajamas, and tucked in. When the time came to select a bedtime story, Hermione deferred to Draco, which seemed to please him greatly.

Choosing “Mother Goose” as the offering for the evening, Draco perched on the side of Louisa’s bed. The child immediately chastised her father. “No, Papa, cuddle,” she demanded.

With a smile and wink to Hermione, who watched from across the room as she put away discarded toys, Draco shifted position so that he leaned against the small bed’s headboard, his legs stretched out and feet hanging off the end. Louisa fitted herself into the crook of his shoulder and gave Draco permission to begin. “Now, Papa.”

Within just a few sentences, Louisa’s eyes began to drift closed, and in less than another two minutes, she was deeply asleep. Draco placed the book on the bedside table and gently disengaged from the tot, dropping a kiss on her forehead with a wish for sweet dreams.

“That was quick,” Hermione whispered as he approached from the opposite side of the room.

He nodded in agreement. “She was exhausted. We all spent so much time outside today; all that fresh air was great, but she definitely wore herself out, between the pony rides and chasing butterflies.”

“You must be pretty knackered, too,” Hermione observed as they left the bedroom. “When was the last time you flew for that long?”

“It’s been a very, very long time,” he admitted. “I’ve flown a couple of times since I got back, but only for a half-hour or so. I didn’t fly at all in Salem.”

“No? Did you not have a broom there?”

“There was an old training broom available, but my time was pretty fully committed. I had very little opportunity for leisure,” he answered.

As they strolled along the corridor toward a sitting room at the far end of the wing, Hermione peered up at him and nodded. “Now that you mention it, that does make sense. From what you’ve described, you probably worked close to twelve hours a day, especially during the last year.”

“Not too far off. I often worked six to eight-hour shifts at the Grapevine, and during the week, I usually had three hours per day of classes. Most of those had group projects in addition to regular assignments, so that would usually suck up another two or three hours. I’d have two hours per week with my therapists, and I’d usually spend about four hours with their kids on Saturdays. So, yeah, when you figure sleep and chores in there, not much free time.”

“And you also had the foundation in the final year, too, right?”

“Mmhmm,” he agreed. “Some of my hours for that overlapped with my shifts at the restaurant, but it took me several weeks, at least a couple of hours each day, to do the research and proposals.”

“It’s funny,” she said, “that you’ve talked in bits and pieces about what you did in Salem, but hearing it all put together like that gives a very different picture, Draco. You worked your arse off.” The tone of her voice bespoke her admiration of his achievement.

“From what I hear, you weren’t too different,” he replied with a shrug. “Completing medical school in two years while caring for a baby is no small accomplishment, especially with your secondary education having been so disrupted.”

“But the major difference is that I had an on-site support system,” she argued.

“Mine wasn’t quite as extensive, but it wasn’t non-existent,” Draco asserted. “My therapists and my bosses were of great help and support.”

“I’m sure that’s true,” Hermione agreed, “but it’s not quite the same as having family and friends nearby.”

“I’ll grant you that, but Mother and Father were always available through the Floo, and as you know, they did visit with some regularity. That was always a great comfort,” he admitted.

“No doubt it was, and they always returned full of pride for the things you’d accomplished.”

“Of course, now I understand why they were a little stressed sometimes,” he noted, but without recrimination. “You were all balancing so many things.” He paused and sighed. “As much progress as both of us made during the last three years, and as many lessons as we learned, I think I have to say that I’m glad to be past it.”

“Amen to that,” Hermione agreed. “I think we were all, to some degree, marking time with that learning until we were prepared to move forward with the rest of our lives.”

Draco dropped heavily into one of the overstuffed armchairs that faced the unlit fireplace. He rolled his neck and groaned. “I guess I overdid it a little,” he admitted.

“Maybe you should take another hot shower,” she suggested.

“Or a cold one,” he muttered under his breath.

“What was that?” she asked, not having heard his subvocalized response.

“I said, ‘It couldn’t hurt,’” he fibbed.

“Or you could try some pain-soothing potion. I think I’ve got some in my bathroom. I’d be happy to get it for you,” she offered.

“You’re the healer. If you think it’s the best solution, who am I to argue?” he said.

“Well, technically it’s Mind Healer, but I did complete the full curriculum, so yes, I’m qualified to dispense medical potions,” she acknowledged.

“Teasing, Granger,” Draco stated, tipping his head back against the top of the chair and closing his eyes.

“Oh, of course. Sorry, I can be kind of… literal at times,” she said.

“Ha, no shit,” he answered with a hearty laugh, eyes still closed and head still resting on the back of the chair.

“Sit tight, then. I’ll go get it for you.”

“Thank you,” he replied, finally opening his eyes to look at her.

She rolled her eyes at him and left to retrieve the potion she’d promised. A few short moments later, she returned with a dark blue vial, holding it out to him.

“Topical or oral?” he asked.

“Uh, it works best as topical but it is effective and safe taken orally. Two tablespoons, approximately, for your height and body mass,” she suggested.

“Since we’re friends now, are you sure you won’t do a guy a favor and rub this on my shoulders?” Draco said, roaring with laughter a moment later when he saw the panicked look on Hermione’s face.

She lightly slapped his shoulder. “You are a horrible git,” she accused, though there was no heat or anger in her tone.

“And you are so easy to rile up! It’s terribly amusing,” he asserted. “And I’m kidding.” He put his hand out and wiggled his fingers. “Give it here.”

“No, actually, you’re right. I really should administer this topically. It’s much quicker to work. And the stuff tastes pretty nasty,” she admitted. Putting on her most professional demeanor, she approached him. “Lean forward and lift your shirt, please.”

Draco hesitated. “Are you sure? I don’t want to…”

“Draco, if you knew how many people I’ve put potions on, examined and treated, it would scramble your brains,” she replied, sounding just a bit exasperated.

He shrugged. “If you don’t mind, I’d appreciate it.” He stripped off his shirt and balanced on the edge of the chair.

“Where, exactly, does it hurt?” she asked, maintaining her all-business attitude.

“Neck, shoulders, and low back – just above my waist,” he replied.

She poured some of the thick, pale yellow potion into her hand and applied it to his aching muscles, starting at his neck and working her way down over his shoulders and back, asking now and then whether she was hitting the right spots.

Having seemingly lost his ability to speak, Draco merely nodded. Had she been able to see his face, the firm hold that he had on his lower lip with his teeth told the story of extreme delight or extreme discomfort.

Finally having taken all he could stand, Draco hoarsely stated, “That’s good, thanks. Much better.”

While Hermione capped the potion bottle and cast a quick Scourgify on her hands to remove any residue, Draco hastily pulled his shirt over his head, leaving it untucked and hanging over his trousers.

“Well, it’s getting late and I really should be going,” he announced abruptly. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” With that, he dashed out of the sitting room toward the Floo, not stopping to say his farewells to his parents.

In his wake, Hermione sat shakily in the chair he’d just vacated. Contrary to her protestations, she had not had vast amounts of “hands-on” healing experience. She’d not wanted either of them to feel uncomfortable, so the know-how she’d had in her training and practicum had been the safety blanket she’d clung to, for his sake as much as hers.

Hermione’s experience with men over the last few years had been virtually non-existent. She’d had a few dates, but most of them had not resulted in anything beyond a single dinner, concert, or walk in the park. She didn’t consider herself asexual, by any stretch of the imagination, but nor was she one to jump into bed with someone she barely knew. She was healthy and self-aware enough to take care of her own needs when they did arise, which, admittedly, wasn’t terribly often.

Therefore, she was a bit surprised at the visceral reaction she’d had to touching Draco’s skin. It wasn’t that he was some god-like specimen of masculinity, although he was no slouch in the physique department; it had just been such a long time since she’d felt any stirrings of physical attraction.

The room was beginning to grow dark, but Hermione made no effort to either turn her wand to the lamps, nor to move to another, brighter space. She sat in the dusky silence, considering how their relationship had evolved over the last few weeks and months.

During Draco’s first months back in England, they had been tentative, polite, but still at arm’s length. She recalled her early fears that he’d harbored some kind of idealized romantic feelings for her, but he’d been nothing less than a perfect gentleman, never obviously mooning over her and never asking for more of the relationship than its natural progress as they worked together to assure Louisa’s health and well-being.

The time they’d spent together, whether working on getting the townhouse into shape or just playing with their daughter, had organically increased. She thought that Draco was quick-witted, thoughtful, and intensely committed to his goals. Each were qualities she found admirable and enticing, at least insofar as she would typically choose friends who had similar attributes. What had been more of a surprise was how sensitive and gentle he could be, not only with Louisa, but with his mother and, she had to acknowledge, herself.

He always seemed to know if something either bothered or delighted her, no matter how hard she tried to keep any outward display of her emotions in check. He could read her well, often before she’d had an opportunity to put a name to her own reactions. That had served to build trust, as he never once took advantage of her feelings; he simply acknowledged them, offered an ear if she wanted it, and moved on. She suspected that three years of double therapy sessions had probably played a significant role in both his intuition and his measured, insightful responses.

This Draco Malfoy was not whom she had expected. While he did get angry, there was no volatile temper to manage, in contrast to her old friend and short-time beau, Ron. While he never denied that harm had been done to him, he was not resentful to the world at large. He had been kept away from everything and everyone that had once been dear to him, but he seemed more complete than many of their contemporaries. There was a soulful wisdom about this man that was threatening to draw her in, and she needed to decide what to do about it.

There were really only three choices, she thought. She could reaffirm her initial decision to keep her distance. She could allow their relationship to evolve naturally to whatever its conclusion might be. Or, she could dive headlong into exploring whether there could be something beyond collaboration and camaraderie between them.

Her typically cautious nature had her rejecting the third option without much additional consideration. She just didn’t have that gene, she thought, to set her sights on a man for the purposes of capture and taming. Knowing Draco as she did now, that was not a tactic that would earn a particularly positive response, anyway. He did have a healthy dose of male pride, and his history with having been so thoroughly and brutally manipulated would not meet with anything close to acceptance.

The first option was equally unsuitable. It was impossible to deny that they had grown closer over the last couple of months, and it would be as unfair to both of them as it would to Louisa for them to take a step backward in their trust and consideration for each other.

That left the second option, which when she thought about how they’d been relating, was the choice that had made itself. So there would be no rushing and no hasty retreat. The status quo, with its incremental forward movement, would rule the day.

Comforted that she’d not reacted in a rash manner, Hermione left the sitting room to prepare herself for bed and the week to come.

XXXXX

Draco paced the floor of the shared sitting room in the upstairs suite, not yet ready to face the idea of entering his bedroom alone. He’d escaped humiliation, but not by much. The feel of her hands on his body, even in such a clinical manner, was almost more than he could bear. He was at once ecstatic and morose, with the joy of having experienced her touch and the fear that he’d never feel it again. What if she’d been angry or upset? Would she even speak to him?

He let out a growl of frustration and finally stalked toward his bedroom, stripping off his clothing along the way and leaving the pieces where they fell. By the time he reached the bathroom, he was as naked as the day he’d been born. As he reached into the shower to turn on the taps, it dawned on him that he’d wash off all the potion that Hermione had applied, rendering her effort and its affect useless.

Even in his agitated state, that didn’t make any sense. He slammed his open palms against the marble sink and lifted his head to stare into the mirror. “What the fuck are you doing?” he demanded of his reflection.

Turning on the cold water tap, he allowed the liquid to flow over his cupped hands. He brought them to his face and splashed away his fog. As he stood straight, the water trailed down his neck and over his chest. He didn’t bother to grab a towel to dry off. Pivoting on his heel, he retreated to the bedroom, ripped the covers down, and flopped onto his back.

His level of need left no question of preliminaries. The ache was too far gone, bordering on desperation. His grasp was tight and his stroke rapid. There was no thought of prolonging his pleasure; he needed release, and he needed it now. With a pounding heart and labored breath, he shouted her name as he spilled his seed over his abdomen. A quick swipe at the wetness with the corner of the sheet was all he could manage before he rolled onto his side and fell deeply into sleep.

XXXXX

When the Floo chime in Hermione’s suite indicated an incoming call, she sighed in frustration. “I’ll never get out of here this morning,” she mumbled to herself, then bent to answer the chimes.

The face of Ginny Weasley appeared in the glowing embers and even the slightly distorted image could not hide the devilish grin on her face.

“I got your owl,” she announced without greeting or preamble.

Hermione shrugged. “Yes, it’s Draco’s twenty-fifth, and we haven’t had a get-together in several weeks, so I thought it would be a nice way to get everyone reintroduced and reacquainted. And only you have seen the townhouse,” Hermione rationalized, thinking back to the quick tour she’d offered when Ginny had accompanied her to pick up Louisa after an afternoon alone with her father a couple of weeks earlier.

She’d been grateful for the reprieve which had allowed her some uninterrupted time to get a leisurely lunch, a haircut and manicure, all of which had been sorely needed, with her friend. The girls’ afternoon out had been relaxing, but Ginny and Draco, upon seeing each other for the first time in years, had exchanged little more than a brief greeting and a cordial handshake. He had given the two privacy while Hermione guided the very brief tour of his current home and her likely future abode.

“So, who else have you invited? And what on earth do I buy as a gift for a man I barely know, and who has the ability to purchase anything he could ever want,” Ginny asked.

“It’s a small group, and I haven’t got all the responses yet, but Luna and Harry should be there, and Blaise Zabini will be in town. Besides you, I’ve also invited Neville, Theo Nott and his fiancée, Daphne Greengrass, and Pansy Parkinson-DeBoertsch. As for gifts, if you’d bothered to read the invitation, it explicitly said ‘no gifts.’ If you feel you want to, you can make a donation in Draco’s honor to the Feeding Families Foundation of Great Britain that he’s established. Does that answer all your questions, Miss Nosy-parker?”

“Oh, I’m just getting started, Miss River-in-Egypt,” she needled.

“’Da Nile’? Hardy har har. And about what am I supposedly in denial?” Hermione huffed.

“You’re trying to be all calm and cool about this, but I can tell: you’re excited about this party,” Ginny accused mirthfully.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I’m excited about seeing you all again, nothing more.”

“If you say so,” Ginny answered with a snigger.

Now she was getting annoyed. “And what else, pray tell, am I supposedly excited about?”

“Hermione, if you haven’t yet realized that you like Draco Malfoy, you are the Queen of the River-in-Egypt,” Ginny retorted.

“Well, yes, I do like Draco. He’s becoming a good friend, and as we’ve discussed more than once, he’s a very good father. If we hope to coexist peacefully, we need to cooperate for the next fifteen years or so on raising Louisa. That could be torturous if we didn’t have a friendly relationship,” she asserted.

“And that’s all?” Ginny scoffed.

“Absolutely. Nothing. Not a single thing more,” she replied definitively.

“So why do you talk about him every time I speak with you?” Ginny challenged.

“Because we have been spending quite a bit of time together. Louisa is growing tremendously attached,” she excused.

“And why does the two of them spending time together translate into you spending time with Draco? Do you not trust him to be alone with her?” Ginny probed.

“Of course not. He’s completely and totally trustworthy. We spend time together to give Louisa continuity and stability, and so that we can build our collaborative relationship,” Hermione avowed.

Ginny snorted. “Whatever you have to tell yourself to sleep at night, Your Majesty.”

“Look, Ginny, I have to get to work, so unless there’s some further point to this conversation, I’m going to need to go.”

“Fine. I’ll let you go for now. But Floo-call me tonight, because I want all the details on this party,” Ginny demanded.

“I’ll call; I promise. Just don’t bug me about Draco. I’m doing this as much for myself as for him. Talk to you tonight,” Hermione said as she drew away from the hearth.

She heard Ginny snickering as the connection faded, then vowed to buy the younger witch a mobile phone for her birthday. Fire-calling was not the best idea when temperatures were in the "sweltering" end of the spectrum. Although the call itself generated no heat, the connection could not be made if there was no fire in the hearth. That had been the one major flaw she’d seen in the otherwise functional system, at least as it pertained to calling from one specific location to another.

The unreasonable heat that had begun a few days earlier had lingered with no end in sight. Hermione had had to pull out summer-weight robes weeks ahead of schedule and just the short few moments near the barely-warm hearth had heated her to the point that she needed a cool towel on her face and neck before she could finish getting dressed for her work shift.

As she tossed the damp towel into the laundry hamper, she heard the creak of her door opening. It would certainly be Louisa, trailed closely by her grandmother. She heard the toddler’s voice just a few seconds later.

“Mummy! Mémère take me swimming today,” she announced.

Turning and scooping the girl into her arms, Hermione said, “That sounds wonderful! I wish I could go with you.”

“You know, since you’ll be in London, you could drop by the townhouse on your lunch break,” Narcissa suggested.

“There’s no pool at the townhouse,” Hermione corrected.

“Yes, there is. In fact, come to think of it, there’s a Jacuzzi and sauna, too.” Narcissa paused for a moment, musing over something. “It’s very possible that Draco doesn’t remember that they’re there or how to access them. We rarely went there in the summer, so there was little need for them,” she recalled.

“So, how do you access them?” Hermione asked.

“Go to the rear of the garden against the north fence. There’s a small gazebo tucked into the corner. Enter the gazebo and tap your wand on the painting of the seashore, and the entrance will appear for you. It’s quite lovely, as I recall,” Narcissa informed her.

“And you’re sure Draco doesn’t know about this?” Hermione pressed.

“As I said, we typically visited during the winter holidays. The last time we were there for a summer visit, Draco was probably no more than five years old, so I really doubt he remembers. It’s fully magically maintained, though, so it should be in usable condition.”

“It sounds great, but I’ve really got to get my act in gear or I’m going to be late. I’ll try to call him later,” Hermione promised, kissing Louisa goodbye and pulling her bag onto her shoulder. “Have fun today, and I’ll talk to you this afternoon if I can find a few minutes.”

By the time her lunch break arrived, temperatures had soared beyond sweltering and into unbearable, and the cooling charms at St. Mungo’s had given up the ghost, not yet having been reinforced for the summer weather that was usually a number of weeks away.

Hermione had tried personal cooling charms, but they had only gone so far when the environmental systems in the building had failed. Pulling out her mobile, she dialed Draco to see if he’d have any objections to her popping over for a quick swim. He answered on the third ring, sounding a little out of breath.

“Good morning, Hermione. To what do I owe the pleasure?” he greeted her.

“Hi, Draco. Did I catch you at a bad time?” she wondered.

“No, I’m just running a little late for a lunch meeting,” he noted.

“Oh, so you’re not at home,” she surmised.

“No, I’m in Diagon Alley. Why? What do you need?” His voice sounded eager.

“Well, I was hoping for a little favor, if you don’t mind.”

“Name it, I’m sure,” he offered.

“Your mother told me this morning that there is a pool facility in the back garden, and I was hoping it would be all right with you for me to go over and cool off for a bit,” she said.

“A pool? Really? Where?” he asked, clearly confused.

“She says you can access it through the gazebo in the back garden. Tap your wand against a painting of the seashore,” Hermione informed him.

“I’ll be damned,” he muttered. “I’d completely forgotten about that.”

“She thought that might be the case,” she confirmed. “So, what do you think? Would it be okay for me to pop over?”

“Why wouldn’t it be? It’s your house,” he replied with a chuckle. “I’ve told you before that you shouldn’t treat it as anything less, regardless of whether I’m there. I’ll also make the leap, though, that you won’t mind if I use it later this afternoon.”

“Don’t be silly. You live there,” she retorted. “Thanks, and I’ll catch up with you later.”

“I probably won’t be back earlier than half two or three o’clock, so I doubt I’ll see you there,” he noted.

“Probably not,” she agreed. “I’ll only be there for about an hour. Have a good meeting,” she wished him.

With that, he thanked her and signed off. “A pool. Huh. I can’t believe that I forgot about that,” he mumbled.

Once the decision was made, Hermione didn’t hesitate. She grabbed her bag, told the desk aide that she’d be back in an hour, give or take, and headed for the Floo. Moments later, she was standing in the foyer of the quiet townhouse.

Leaving her bag on the coat rack after retrieving her wand from the inside pocket, Hermione dashed up the stairs to her bedroom and searched the dresser for something she could transfigure into a bathing suit. The best she could do was a set of periwinkle blue lingerie that could be enhanced so that they were not transparent when wet, and lined so that the lace was no longer sheer. She found that she still had the long Quidditch jersey that Draco had loaned her for sleepwear a few weeks earlier. It would serve well as a cover-up. She entered the bathroom to retrieve a large towel and to rearrange her hair into a more secure twist. After changing into her make-shift swimsuit and jersey, she made her way through the house toward the garden.

While she had certainly explored the garden, and even played in the gazebo with Louisa, she’d never suspected that it held such a delightful secret. She located the seashore painting and tapped her wand against it as Narcissa had instructed. A door became visible directly opposite the gazebo’s entryway, and Hermione turned the knob to open it.

She was amazed and delighted by what she saw as she stepped through. A large built-in pool, complete with diving board, ladder, and slide, was surrounded by a slate patio, which was in turn surrounded by a lush green lawn. Six chaise lounges, each covered by tropical print cushion, sat on one side. On their opposite was a small Jacuzzi, although it was probably large enough to accommodate about six people. There were two small structures which she went to investigate. The one with the cedar door was revealed to be the sauna that Narcissa had mentioned. The other was a changing room, complete with a small walk-in shower and privy.

Hermione observed that the magical charms must have been very strong, because everything was in pristine condition and perfect working order. A sign on the side of the bath house even indicated the presence of a magical lifeguard. In case of an accident or injury, it read, any person in distress would be immediately transported via spatial Portkey to St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies. She made a mental note to ask how that charm was constructed; in all her years in the magical world, this one was completely new to her.

She stripped off her cover-up and dropped it and the towel on one of the chaises. Eschewing the ladder and slide, Hermione walked to the end of the diving board and, taking one hop, launched herself into the deep end of the pool. The water temperature proved to be perfect: cool and refreshing against the heat and humidity that had shown no mercy for days. Emerging from her brief underwater foray, Hermione began swimming laps in a simple crawl stroke, switching every now and then to a relaxing back stroke. She relished both the cooling comfort and the opportunity for a bit of invigorating exercise. The quiet and solitude were also welcome; she rarely had more than a few minutes a day, other than sleep, when there was time for nothing more than her own thoughts and feelings. An hour of that peaceful state was pure bliss.

All too soon, her wand chimed, warning her that she had just about a half-hour before she needed to get back to St. Mungo’s. She used the ladder to climb out of the pool, drying off briskly with the fluffy towel as she made her way back through the gazebo and into the house. Once she felt sufficiently dry, she pulled the jersey over her head and wandered through the house toward her bedroom, where she took a quick shower and dressed.

She’d worked up a bit of an appetite, so she went to the kitchen and made a sandwich with some chicken that she’d found in the refrigerator. After leaving a quick note for Draco to thank him for the food she’d filched, she dashed back through the foyer to retrieve her bag and activate the Floo. She was back in her office in moments, a new idea blooming in her head.

Later that evening, that idea now more fully formed, she kept her promise to return Ginny’s early morning call. Not wanting to deal with a lengthy Floo call in front of the warm hearth, she made the connection and immediately invited Ginny to step through so that they could speak in person.

After exchanging hugs and greetings, the two young witches settled into comfortable armchairs to chat.

“Where’s the munchkin?” Ginny asked. “I’d love to see my goddaughter.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I put her down to sleep about a half-hour ago. She and Narcissa went swimming today and she was completely knackered,” Hermione explained.

“Aw, I’m sorry I missed her,” Ginny said.

“And she’ll be sad to have missed you. We’ll arrange something for the weekend, if that works for you,” Hermione offered.

“So, I have to know. What’s the deal with this party?” Ginny asked, dispensing with further pleasantries to get right to the point.

“Actually, I’ve had an idea, and I’d like your opinion,” Hermione replied.

“Go on, then. When have you ever known me to hold back on sharing what I think?” Ginny scoffed.

Hermione laughed heartily. “To my knowledge, that has never, ever happened.” She took a bracing breath. “Okay, here goes. I originally planned to have a barbecue and drinks, followed by cake and more drinks. We’d just chat and hang out on the patio in the garden. But this morning, Narcissa told me about a feature of the townhouse of which I’d been unaware, and I saw it this afternoon. It would be perfect for a party, particularly if the weather we’ve been having persists.”

“And what is this fantastic feature?” Ginny prompted.

“A built-in pool, Jacuzzi, and sauna,” Hermione revealed.

Ginny squealed in delight. “That’s perfect! Merlin, that would be an awesome idea,” she enthusiastically agreed.

“I only have one hesitation,” Hermione confessed.

“And that would be…?”

“Well, obviously, swimming pools and Jacuzzis mean rather… minimal attire. I don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea, or to feel uncomfortable,” she said.

“Hmm, I see your point,” Ginny noted, “but I think you’re dead wrong to be worried. Besides, aren’t you a little bit curious?”

“About what?”

Ginny snorted. “Come on, Hermione. Since when are you obtuse?”

“I thought I was supposed to be the Queen of Denial?” Hermione retorted.

“They are closely related maladies, apparently. You know you’re dying to catch a peek of fine-looking young Mr. Malfoy in teeny weeny swim shorts,” Ginny needled.

“I am not!” Hermione protested indignantly. “Look, anyone who has eyes can see that he’s a decent-looking bloke, but that’s just not even close to where we are. We’re good friends who just happen to share a daughter under some very odd circumstances.”

Hermione stood and paced for a few moments, feeling just slightly hypocritical for not acknowledging the great deal of pleasure she’d taken in noticing how nicely built that young man was when she’d been rubbing pain potion all over his back. She rationalized, though, that she was right about where they were – or weren’t – in their current relationship. And as much as she’d been concerned about his little crush on her when he returned to England, he’d done nothing in weeks to indicate that he was interested in pursuing anything more than their parenting partnership. And she couldn’t say that she was disappointed in that. They were in a good place, she insisted to her internal devil’s advocate.

“If that’s true, why are you pacing the room like a caged panther?” Ginny challenged.

“What? No, I’m not!” she replied.

“Queen of that River in Egypt,” Ginny sang.

Hermione let out a growl of frustration. “I don’t know, okay? He’s been so nice to me, and you know how terrified I was when he came back and I thought he might, um, like me a little too much?” Hermione reminded her.

“Yes, I remember you being a little freaked out about it at first, but you hadn’t mentioned anything in a long while, so I assumed that either you had decided that he wasn’t a prat at all or that you figured out you were wrong in your earlier assumption,” Ginny revealed. “So, which is it?”

“That’s the thing. I’m not sure which, and I’m not sure how I feel about not being sure,” Hermione answered.

“Well, that’s about as convoluted as anything I’ve ever heard you say, Hermione Granger,” Ginny asserted.

“I know. The truth is, we have become closer. He’s a better father than I ever imagined he could be. Louisa absolutely adores him, too. He’s been a perfect gentleman every time we’re together, and even when we do disagree about something, he always listens to my opinion and is willing to compromise. He’s a great cook and he’s working on this massive charity project to really help people who are struggling. He has this wonderfully biting and sarcastic sense of humor, but there’s nothing cruel or nasty about it. It’s just quick-witted and dead funny. He’s really smart, too. I think he’s easily as intelligent as everyone always says I am. He works hard and he achieves his goals, no matter how much he has to dig in to make it happen. Did you know that he completed a full business degree program while he was in Salem? And what if he’s decided he doesn’t like me anymore?”

“Take a deep breath, Hermione,” Ginny said with a broad grin and a pat on her friend’s back. “Did you hear how you described him? If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were the one with the ‘little crush’ on him.”

“But I can’t do that! I can’t let that happen!” Hermione exclaimed.

“Why not?” Ginny pressed.

“Because I promised myself I wouldn’t, and because it’s easier to be friends then to have my heart broken if we do get close and he doesn’t have any interest in me beyond being pals.”

“But what if he does have those kind of feelings for you and he’s just keeping his distance and being respectful of your space because of, uh, everything that happened?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Hermione wailed, throwing her hands up in surrender.

“I think you’re both keeping each other at arm’s length to be protective of your hearts,” she claimed. “You’ve both been through an awful lot. It’s totally understandable.”

“How could you know that? You’ve never seen the two of us interact,” Hermione replied.

“But we’ll correct that in less than two weeks, and I promise you, I’ll be able to tell you whether he’s got it bad for you,” Ginny vowed.

“But what if I don’t know whether I even want him to have it bad for me?” Hermione protested.

“Sooner or later, you’re both going to need to figure out if you’re going to go through life connected only by Louisa, or whether you’ll have a relationship that stands on its own. Obviously, that could still just be a friendship, but I hear more than ‘pals’ in the way you talk about him. In the meantime, we can use that little birthday at the pool to test fate,” Ginny suggested, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

“You really think that’s a good idea?” Hermione asked, her tone equally dubious and hopeful.

“I do. What better way to check out the situation than having people half-naked, wet, and a little tipsy? It’ll be perfect,” she concluded.

XXXXX

Draco had been only mildly surprised when Hermione had suggested making his birthday celebration a pool party. It really hadn’t required any more effort than moving the barbecue grill from the patio near the kitchen to the pool complex, and a quick note to each of their guests telling them to bring swimwear.

They’d both taken advantage of the facilities several times in the twelve days since they’d learned of its existence, though they’d not yet been at the pool together. The unusual heat wave had persisted with the exception (Just my luck, he’d thought) of the previous Saturday when the three of them had been together at the townhouse. That day had rained buckets, and had raised the hope that the streak had been broken. The respite had been brief, as temperatures on the following Monday had returned to their scorching levels.

As the day of the party dawned, it was clear that the weather would be as close to ideal as they could hope - bright sun and warm temperatures. Although much of the party would be after dark, the humidity made swimming a perfect diversion.

Hermione was due to arrive at the townhouse around eleven. She’d called him on his mobile the evening before to coordinate plans and schedules, and when they’d rung off, it had dawned on him that this would be the first time they’d be spending an extended period of time together without Louisa since his return to England. He hoped that he’d be able to maintain his “friends” façade throughout the day; he feared that it might be a struggle, particularly once they had donned swimwear. The thought of seeing her in such minimal garb sent a pleasant shiver up and down his spine. He groaned and rubbed his hand against the back of his neck, anticipating the amount of self-control he’d need to exercise for the day.

Looking at the clock on the cell phone that was now his constant companion (damned addicting Muggle technology!), he realized that he had less than a half-hour before she was due to arrive. She’d insisted that he wait for her before beginning any of the prep work for the party, but sitting around not doing anything was making him antsy. The relatively short time frame, though, made it impractical to do much of anything. He supposed that the one thing he could do that would occupy him without getting either immersed or distracted was to select his own clothing for the party.

Taking the steps two at a time, he entered their suite and then his bedroom. He pulled open the drawers of his dresser in search of a suitable pair of swim trunks. When he’d discovered that there was a pool on-site, he’d gone shopping to buy a few different styles to serve the varying needs of the facilities. The clerk at the store had insisted that each would serve a purpose, but he was still unconvinced about the barely-there briefs that he’d heard someone in the shop refer to as a “banana hammock.” (When he’d finally tried the scrap of fabric on, he’d understood why; they left nothing to the imagination.) He guessed that they might be useful if he were alone and swimming laps for exercise, as he’d seen during a racing competition on the Roys’ television. They would definitely not be on his body today. He finally settled on a pair of dark blue trunks, trimmed with a white stripe on the seams and around the hem of each leg. They were sufficiently modest without being stodgy, sitting just below his waist and reaching to a couple of inches above his knees.

He selected a pair of tan cargo shorts and a salmon-colored short-sleeved linen shirt for the day’s other activities. For the prep work that he and Hermione would do prior to the guests’ arrival, he’d stay in the grey t-shirt and jeans that he was wearing now.

As he finished putting away any clothing items that had been considered then rejected, he heard the main Floo connection activate and Hermione calling out.

“Draco, I’m here,” she announced. The rustling of bags being juggled immediately followed.

He appeared in the upstairs landing, looking down at her struggles. He jogged down the steps to meet her.

“Hi. Let me help you with some of that,” Draco offered, reaching out to relieve her of some of her burdens.

Handing him two bags, she said, “These can go in the kitchen.” She placed a third bag on the coat stand’s seat. “This needs to go to the pool area. I’ll do that later.” The final item was an overnight bag. “I’ll just put this in my room,” she finished, heading up the stairs.

Half-way through her short trip, she turned around. “By the way, our daughter isn’t terribly happy with either of us right now. We’re going to have a lot of groveling to do over this,” she told him with a chuckle and a smile.

“I’m sure we can find a way to make it up to her tomorrow,” Draco asserted. “I think we both need this evening to have some fun with friends.”

“You’re right, and I’m quite certain we will. I’ll be right down; I just want to hang this up in my room. Meet you in the kitchen?” she suggested.

“Perfect. See you in a few.” With that, Draco left to drop the bags in the kitchen. He was joined there by Hermione before he’d even had the opportunity to start unloading the packages.

“That was quick,” he observed.

“I only had one dress to hang. The rest was just folded in one stack and transferred to a drawer,” she answered. “Let me give you a hand getting this organized.”

“Sure. What is all of this, anyway? I thought you’d already brought the items for the meal,” he asked. “In fact, I saw the chicken marinating in the refrigerator, and there was also a package of steaks.”

“Oh, yeah. I came over yesterday on my lunch hour to drop that off. I hope that’s okay,” she added.

“For Merlin’s sake, Hermione, this house is as much yours as it is mine. You never need permission to be here,” he told her.

“I know, but what if, someday, you were, uh, entertaining someone. I wouldn’t want to interfere or disturb you,” she asserted, although the little devil on her shoulder was just dying to hear how he’d respond.

Draco laughed, in fact, guffawed. “The only women I care to have in my life already have all the access they need and you don’t have to worry about running into anyone, unless you’re concerned about seeing Louisa – or even more scary – yourself traipsing around.”

“Well, still, what if…”

He cut her off abruptly. “Not going to happen. End of story.”

“Okay, if you say so,” she allowed, the hint of a smile on her face saying that she wasn’t unhappy with his vehement assertion.

“Right, then. So if the steaks and chicken are already here, what else did you need to bring? I had everything for the side dishes we talked about, I thought,” Draco queried again.

“Oh, this is all munchies for after dinner. I don’t know about you, but if I’m playing around in a pool, I burn a lot of energy. People will want to snack. Besides that, if everyone is drinking, you don’t want then to have empty stomachs. Thus, chips and dip, crudité, cheese and crackers, and caramel popcorn,” she recounted.

“Don’t forget the cake,” he noted.

“Right. Your mother said it would be delivered here by one of the house-elves around two-ish,” Hermione informed him.

“I checked the bar, and we should be set. There’s plenty of wine, beer, Firewhisky, and cordials.”

Reaching into one of the bags, Hermione lifted out a magnum of champagne. “And for our toast to the birthday boy,” she announced.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he scolded her. “But thank you.”

“Of course not. I wanted to. Just pop it into the refrigerator for me, will you?” she requested, holding out the bottle.

As he took it from her, he said, “By the way, I finally heard back from Pansy with a final confirmation that she’ll be here.”

“Oh, good. Her note to me had said she was fairly certain she could make it, so I’m glad she was able to work it out. I’m sure it’ll be nice for you to get reacquainted.”

“I’m looking forward to it. You know, while it didn’t surprise me that she married someone older, I was pretty stunned to learn that it was supposedly a love match and not an arranged union. Can’t wait to hear her story about how that happened,” he admitted.

“I’d heard that, too,” Hermione confirmed, “but it was a third-hand conversation, so I guess we’ll have to wait to hear it from her. In any case, it now seems that everyone we invited will be here. It’ll be a nice, intimate group.”

“Believe it or not, I’m actually looking forward to even seeing your friends. I have a few apologies I’d like to make, face-to-face,” Draco confessed.

“Draco, no one expects that of you. They completely understand what happened and why. None of them blame you for your actions,” Hermione told him.

“I know, and as you well know, I’ve come to terms with just about all of that. I’d just like to clear the slates entirely, and have them hear it from me rather than using the smoke screen of second-hand knowledge.”

“Well, I’m sure they’ll graciously accept you. They wouldn’t have agreed to come if they weren’t already well-prepared to do that, you know,” she pointed out.

“I suppose that’s true, but it’ll feel like closing one chapter and opening a new one, at least for me.”

“Fine by me. Just don’t dwell on it. Everybody’s coming to have fun,” she replied with a smile and a poke to his shoulder.

The two worked side by side for the next couple of hours, preparing salads, scrubbing potatoes for baking, slicing and chopping vegetables for the gazpacho soup Draco was making, and combining sliced fruit and wine for the sangria for which he’d acquired a taste at some point during his stay in Salem. Condiments and garnishes were prepared and placed in small decorative serving bowls, then stored in the refrigerator until they’d be needed a little later. Hermione had turned the chicken in its marinade to ensure that the flavors were fully infused and Draco had rubbed each of the steaks with a light paste of crushed fresh garlic, finely minced shallot, salt, and pepper.

When the prep work was finally done, Draco suggested that Hermione take a break to relax before people began arriving in an hour or so.

“Actually, I have just a quick thing I need to do at the pool, then I think I’m going to grab a quick shower and get changed,” Hermione said.

“That’s a good idea. I think I may join you,” Draco said.

When her eyes went wide with surprise and amusement, he realized what he had said, and spluttered in embarrassment. “I mean, I’ll do the same, but not with you. Separately. Of course.”

She just laughed in reply. “I know what you meant,” she teased. “It’s fine. Very funny, actually.” She winked at him and took off up the stairs. “See you in a bit.”

A little more than forty minutes later, Draco was back in the kitchen, stirring the pitcher of sangria and adding a couple of sprigs of mint. He heard Hermione’s approaching footsteps and raised his head in greeting. He swallowed a gasp when he saw her. She was wearing a light blue sleeveless wrapped sundress of crisp polished cotton. It featured a tiny peak at her cleavage with the vee created by the fabric’s overlap and fell just above her knees. The few hours she’d spent getting some sun by the pool had gently kissed her skin with a hint of additional color. In her hair, which was tamed into a simple French twist, was a large fresh orchid. It appeared that she’d applied just a touch of lip gloss that emphasized her Cupid’s bow lips, and a swipe of mascara made her eyes her most prominent feature.

She was as beautiful as his dreams and imagination always conjured her to be, in his moments of deepest desire and darkest despair, when thinking of her had brought his only light. Here she was, the beacon who called to him, night and day.

He coughed and tightly clamped down on the jaw he was sure had been agape. “You look… lovely,” he told her hoarsely.

She looked at him shyly. “Thank you. You look great yourself, Mr. Malfoy,” she complimented.

It took him a moment to find his voice again, but he finally managed to thank her. He turned his back to gather his composure and seized upon a way to ease the slightly awkward moment. “Would you like to try the sangria?” he offered.

“Sure. Just a small glass, though. I don’t want to be tipsy before our friends even arrive.” She took the glass he’d filled and reached out to tap it against the one he’d poured for himself in a toast. “To an enjoyable and successful party, and most especially, to your birthday.”

“Salute,” he replied, taking a sip and then a deep, calming breath.

“This is fabulous,” she complimented. “I hope you made two pitchers, because this will be gone in nothing flat.”

“I did,” he verified. “I do like this recipe, so I’m glad you enjoy it.”

They were both quiet for a moment, suddenly shy after having spent a whole afternoon together. Hermione broke the ice. “Considering your restaurant experience, what should we be doing now? Is there anything that should be taken out?”

“Most of what we’re serving is cold, other than the baked potatoes, which I’ve wrapped in foil so that they can cook in the coals, and the steak and chicken which will be grilled, so we only need to pull the appetizers out of the refrigerator. Since we already put them on the platters, it won’t take more than a couple of minutes to get them outside.”

“People should be arriving shortly, so maybe we should take the hors d’oeuvres out to the patio by the pool now. While you were finishing up the gazpacho, I set up the tables and what-not, so we’re set to go,” she told him.

“You should have told me you were going to do that. I’d have helped move the tables for you,” he answered.

“Uh, witch. Wand. Levitation spells,” she said, pointing at herself.

He laughed. “You know, I still do so many things, especially around food preparation and service, the Muggle way, that I sometimes even forget that I’m a wizard. Habits are pretty ingrained, I guess.”

“In that case, let’s get this stuff out and just place stasis charms to keep them cool. When I was out there, I saw that you already put the beverages out,” she noted.

“Yes. That’s all set to go. Ice, glassware, mixers, and garnishes,” he confirmed.

Leaving their finished glasses behind, they each picked up two trays and walked toward the pool facility. Hermione stopped him just before they entered. “I hope you’ll like what I’ve done, but if you don’t, I’ll be happy to change it,” she offered.

He looked at her with curiosity. “What did you do?”

She opened the door to reveal her handiwork, and smiled when he couldn’t stifle a gasp as he crossed the threshold.

She had set one large round table with a white linen cloth and matching napkins, robin’s egg blue china, silver flatware, and fine crystal glassware. White tea lights, long tapered candles, and floral arrangements of orchids and greens decorated the center. Lanterns were strung in the trees that surrounded the entire patio. Another table was set to hold the appetizers now, and snacks later in the evening. It was complete with linens and plates that matched the main table. Above, she’d strung a banner that read, “Happy 25th Birthday, Draco.” On another small table between the pool and Jacuzzi was a large stack of fluffy towels. A small fire pit was surrounded by lawn chairs, ready for them and their guests to relax once they’d tired of playing in the pool or Jacuzzi.

The makeshift bar that Draco had set up earlier had been enhanced by another linen tablecloth, added with the help of magic. Tea lights and candles dotted every surface. It was lovely, and far more than he’d expected or imagined. Once again, she’d left him virtually speechless.

Finally, he managed a low whistle and a “wow.”

“Should I take that as a sign of approval?” Hermione asked, pleased that he seemed to be impressed with both the look and mood she’d created.

“It’s perfect. Don’t change a thing. Thank you, again.” He took a moment to set down the platter he’d been carrying and relieved her of her own. “Really, thank you. This is fabulous.” Unable to help the instinctive move, he pulled her into a brief side-armed hug and placed a quick kiss on her forehead. “You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble, but I really appreciate that you did.”

“You’re very welcome. It was my pleasure, and really no trouble at all,” she said, dismissing his effusive compliment. She returned the smile he’d bestowed on her and squeezed his forearm in response.

He cleared his throat and said, “Uh, we should probably get back inside for the moment. People should be arriving any time now.”

“You’re right. It wouldn’t do to have them wandering the halls, wondering where we are,” she agreed.

They busied themselves with finishing touches in the kitchen for a few minutes until the first of their guests arrived. Harry and Luna Potter stepped through the Floo, Luna carrying a small bag and Harry a case of what appeared to be Butterbeer. Greeting Hermione first, both Potters gave hugs to their hostess. Draco stepped up and extended his hand to Harry.

“Welcome to my, uh, our, um, the townhouse,” he stumbled over his words. Harry took his hand and thanked him, giving over the case he’d been carrying.

“Hello, Malfoy. This is for you. It’s a special brew that Hannah Abbott creates only once a year. Sells out in days. It’s infused with lemon and orange, she tells me. I couldn’t tell one from the other, but I know it tastes fabulous. I hope you’ll like it,” Harry replied.

“Thank you. I’ve never tried it, but it sounds like it would be very tasty. Please, call me ‘Draco,’ though. ‘Malfoy’ is from a time long past,” he invited.

“Fair enough. Call me ‘Harry,’ then,” he reciprocated.

Draco nodded, then turned to Luna with his hand extended. She stepped past the hand and enveloped him in a hug, saying, “Hello, Draco Malfoy, and happy birthday.”

Although he was a bit surprised by her particularly friendly gesture, he gracefully returned the hug and greeted her. “It’s nice of you to join us, Mrs. Potter.”

“Luna, please,” she replied.

Hermione spoke up then. “Why don’t I show you back to the patio? The other guests should be arriving shortly, but you can get comfortable and have a little something to eat or drink.”

“Lead on,” Luna said, but it seemed that Harry and Draco had other ideas.

“We’ll be with you in a moment, love,” Harry said. “Draco and I just want a private word.”

“Of course. We’ll see you outside, then,” Hermione returned.

Harry spoke before Draco could open his mouth. “I know you and I have had our serious differences over the years, but I also know that you weren’t necessarily you for the great bulk of that time. With some of the things that happened to me involving the Horcruxes, I have a tiny bit of understanding about how difficult and horrifying it is to not be in control of your own feelings and actions. What I’m trying to say is that I don’t hold any of that against you, and I respect what you’ve done to rebuild your life. From all accounts, you’ve become quite a decent bloke, a good father to Louisa, and a good support to Hermione. I’m all for burying the hatchet, if you are.”

Draco met Harry’s eyes and held them in an earnest and intense gaze. “I appreciate your words more than I can say. It was my intention to apologize to you today for the wrongs that I did to you, and I hope that you’ll accept that as truly heartfelt. I want to put that past fully behind me so that I can create a worthy life for myself and my daughter, and for Hermione in whatever way she wishes. Your support and forgiveness are integral because you and Luna are so important to Hermione. Because of what I did, she and I will be linked for a very, very long time. I know only too well that that was not the way Louisa should have come into the world, but it can’t be changed. I abhor what I did to Hermione, but I love her and I’m overjoyed that I get to be her papa. We have no choice but to work with what is, not how we wish it could be. Regardless, I will do everything in my power to give both of them the lives they want and deserve. That’s more than a promise; it’s my wizard’s vow.”

“If what I see in your expression is even half as true as your words, we’ll have no problems. As long as you’re good to them, you’re good with me,” Harry replied. “Now, show me where this fabulous pool is. Hermione has been bragging on it for two solid weeks.” With that, he clapped Draco on his back and the two made their way outside.

Leaving Harry with Hermione and Luna, Draco told them that he would return to the house in order to greet the other guests. As each appeared through the Floo, he escorted them back through the house to join the others. Last to arrive, as was her deliberate habit, was Ginny Weasley.

“Hi, Draco. Nice to see you again,” she said.

“Ginny,” he nodded, “welcome. Glad you could join us. Everyone is out back, if you’d like to follow me.”

“Right behind you,” she replied.

When they stepped through the gazebo’s secret entrance, they heard lots of laughter and saw that everyone was nibbling on the appetizers and sipping beverages, mostly of the alcoholic sort. Draco was pleasantly surprised to see that Harry and Blaise had happily ensconced themselves together at the bar, pouring and mixing for the other guests.

Theo and Daphne, who were newly engaged, were sharing a chaise and chatting with Neville. Hermione and Pansy were seated directly on the pool’s edge, dangling their feet into the cool water while sipping on the sangria that Draco had made. As Hermione saw Draco come through the door, she called out, “Hey, everybody, let’s hear it for the birthday boy!”

Hoots and hollers resounded, and Draco acknowledged their cheers with a wave and a flush on his cheeks. “Thank you, everyone. I’m really glad to be able to celebrate my birthday with each of you – some of you slightly more than others,” he teased. “But you’ll have to figure out who and why.”

“I’d guess those of the female persuasion will get first billing,” Blaise asserted, “followed next by anyone who hands you an adult beverage.”

Harry took up the erstwhile Slytherin’s cue and asked, “What’s your poison? Happy to pour for you.”

“I’d love to try some of that specialty Butterbeer you brought, if you don’t mind,” Draco stated.

“That’s why it’s here, mate. Bottle or glass?”

“Bottle will do nicely,” Draco chose, and accepted the brew after Harry flicked off the cap with a wave of his wand.

Theo raised his glass of Firewhisky and proposed a toast, “To Draco’s birthday, and a bright future for the next hundred years. May you have everything you want, be troubled by nothing, sunshine to chase away your fears, and showers to douse troublesome fires.”

Draco raised his bottle to acknowledge the toast, and asked if anyone needed other refreshments. When everyone indicated that they were taken care of, Harry having poured a glass of sangria for Ginny, his childhood crush, Draco had to choose where he would begin mingling. Before he could decide, Pansy waved him over.

“Get your cute little arse over here, Draco,” she called out, resulting in chuckles from the other ladies and hoots and whistles from the men.

Draco rolled his eyes, but complied with her request nonetheless. The decision that he’d wanted to make – to sit near Hermione – was facilitated beautifully by Pansy’s summons.

“Ladies,” he greeted, “you’re looking cool and comfortable by the pool.”

“The water is perfect. I’m anxious for a swim later,” Pansy said, leaning over to kiss Draco’s cheek as he sat beside her. He took a moment to kick off his sandals before dangling his feet into the pool.

“How have you been, love?” Draco asked. “It’s been so long since we’ve talked.”

“Longer than I care to think about,” she whispered, a wave of melancholy sweeping over her for a moment. Gathering a positive attitude around her, she brightened quickly. “But all that’s over now, and you’re back. I’m so very glad to see you.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck for a squeeze and rested her head on his shoulder the way she used to when they were fourth-year sweethearts. The sentiment today, though, was one of deep caring and friendship.

Returning her hug, Draco prompted, “Tell me about your life, now. I hear you got married two years ago.”

She smiled brilliantly. “Yes, I did. I was just telling Hermione about my husband, Georg. He’s a wonderful man; I think you’d like him quite a lot. He’s away on a business trip in the Far East, or he would have come along.”

“We’ll have to make sure to invite you again when he’s also in town,” Draco promised, subconsciously including Hermione in the offer.

“I’m sure I’d love to meet Baron DeBoertsch, Pansy. He sounds like a fascinating man, from what you told me,” Hermione added, making it clear that she’d not missed Draco’s unintentional inclusion, thus bring his own attention to it. He cringed at his faux pas.

Pansy look back and forth between the two people on either side of her. “Are the two of you, uh, together?”

Both issued immediate denials. “Oh, no.”

“We’re just friends.”

“We sort of share space here, now and then.”

“Good, solid pals, no doubt.”

Pansy smirked. “Of course. I see.”

Desperate to change the trajectory of the conversation, Draco rephrased his question. “How did you meet the Baron?”

“He was a consultant who came in to help my father’s firm rebuild after the war, and I would see him frequently when he’d come to the estate for meetings. We had lunch a couple of times, and really hit it off. We started seeing each other a couple of months later, and never looked back,” she related with a broad smile.

“What’s he like?” Draco pressed, the tiny gossip-monger buried deep inside just dying to know. (In school, he’d been the first to know who was seeing whom, which couple had just split, and who was suffering from unrequited love. He’d claimed it was for Slytherin purposes of cunning and manipulation, but he was an unabashed people-watcher.)

Pansy raised an eyebrow at him. “You haven’t changed all that much, have you?” she needled.

He shrugged unapologetically. “Purely curiosity,” he deflected.

“Fine,” she relented, but there was only amusement in her tone. “He’s a little older than us, but he’s not yet turned forty. He’s tall and slender, with a Seeker’s build. Dark brown hair, blue eyes, and fair complexion. Georg is very funny, which is one of the things that initially drew me to him. He’s also a very astute businessman, and has helped my father recover all of the losses he suffered during the war, and then some. I respect his mind, and we share a common set of values.”

“Money, more money, and a little more money,” Draco teased.

“Well, yes, that too,” she agreed happily. “It’s more than that, though. As the war wore on, things became very difficult for pureblood families who supported the Dark Lord. Many people disappeared when they fell out of favor, and others were expected to hand over their entire fortunes to fund Lord V’s expensive habits, along with the costs of the war.

“While my father did support him in the early stages, he saw rather quickly that what that freak was advocating was hypocritical at best and genocidal at worst. As a family, we decided that it would be very dangerous for us to actively and publicly oppose him, so we made the strategic decision to appear neutral. Behind the scenes, though, my father funneled tons of money to the Order and the Ministry-in-Exile to fund their mission. It seemed a better investment than the alternative.

“That’s what caused some of the cash-flow issues with the firm, and what brought Georg to us in the first place. When he learned what Father had been up to, he worked with the firm at a greatly discounted fee so that the coffers could be rebuilt. And, in the long run, he won out because he got me in the bargain,” Pansy concluded, preening just a little.

“He sounds like an admirable bloke, Pans,” Draco offered, “and it seems that you’re quite lucky to have found each other. I wish the both of you every happiness.”

“So now that you know everything you need to about me, fill me in on what’s going on with you,” Pansy insisted.

At this, Hermione stood up and said, “I’ll let the two of you catch up for a bit. I need to get the coals started on the barbecue, or the jacket potatoes won’t be done ‘til tomorrow.” She patted Pansy’s shoulder and gave a quick glance at Draco before moving to the opposite side of the patio to tend to the grill.

“So… spill,” Pansy pressed once they were alone. “You’ve got a thing for her, don’t you?”

Draco shushed her quickly. “Don’t say that! I don’t need any more complications than I’ve already got on that front,” he protested.

“Ha! I thought so. What’s the problem?” she probed further.

“What’s the problem?” Draco echoed, incredulous. “Do you have any idea what I did to her? I’m lucky she hasn’t ever had the inclination to AK me, all things considered.”

“The two of you have a child,” she argued.

“Yes, we do. Do you know how Louisa came to be?” Draco challenged.

“Well, in general, Tab A goes into Slot B…” she said.

“Think back, Pans. Think about the timeline. When Louisa was conceived, I wasn’t in my right mind. If you remember the news reports of my trial, I was still under the influence of that fucking potion and spell combination from my darling, thankfully departed Aunt Bella. Hermione was my last victim. It wasn’t any kind of hook-up,” he spat, angered that he’d had to recount, and thus relive, even in just the broadest terms, the crime he’d committed against the woman he loved.

“Gods, Draco, I guess I kind of knew that there was something off about the whole thing, but I had no idea about the particulars. A lot of it was handled quietly, especially after you left. She testified for you, or something, didn’t she?” Pansy asked, trying to recall the circumstances and gain some clarity about the situation.

Draco sighed deeply. “She did. She was wonderful – forgiving, caring, incredibly selfless. I owe her my life, for more reasons than I can count.”

“So you do have a thing for her,” she concluded.

“Yeah,” he finally admitted with a snort. “Fat lot of good that’ll ever do me. The worst part of it is that, in therapy, I discovered that the fascination I had with her while we were teenagers was one of the main reasons that bitch, Bella, made sure that I targeted her over and over again.”

Pansy reached for his hand and squeezed it tightly. “I’m so sorry, Draco. I really had no idea of the scope of your problem. So, how is it that she’s serving as your hostess for this party? In our world, that’s a pretty strong statement,” she observed.

“Don’t forget that she has the biggest heart on the planet. There’s no way she’ll allow this little black sheep to wander off on his own,” he asserted. Sighing deeply, he added, “And as much as she’s learned about wizarding society in the last few years, there are some subtleties that she probably doesn’t fully grasp. I suppose we are becoming pretty good friends, at least. We’ve agreed that we’ll cooperate in raising Louisa, and the three of us spend a good deal of time together.”

Pansy released his hand and punched him in the shoulder. “Don’t be a dolt. She likes you better than that; I can tell these things.”

“While I’d love for you to be right, I just don’t see it,” he bemoaned.

“Well, you weren’t the one who spent that last half-hour chatting with her. She talked about nothing but you and Louisa,” she told him.

“That doesn’t mean a thing,” he protested.

Pansy sniffed. “I beg to differ. Maybe not today or even next month, but mark my words, there’s something more than friendship brewing.”

Draco scoffed at her assertion. “If anything were to happen with us, it’d take a whole lot longer than that for it to develop. She may have an enormous heart, but she’s also said, very recently, that she’s not interested in any ‘romantic entanglements.’ I can’t think of much that’d be more tangled than the two of us.”

“You wish!” Pansy teased, and broke out into peals of laughter. “Tangled, get it?”

“Not funny. Cut it out,” he growled at her.

When she calmed down, Pansy threw an arm around his shoulders. “You seriously need to lighten up. I’d tell you to go get laid, but I know you better than that. You won’t touch anyone else with a ten-foot pole if you’re hung up on the lovely Miss Granger.”

“Now, see, you do understand that about me. It took me three years to convince my therapists that I’d never be okay with screwing around for fun when my heart belonged elsewhere, unrequited or not.”

“Three years!” Pansy shrieked. “You’ve been hung up on her and celibate for that whole time?”

“Shush!”

“Good gods, you’ve got it bad. No wonder you can’t keep your eyes off her; it’s all you’ve got to fuel those delightfully naughty fantasies.”

“Please, Pansy. You’re killing me,” he stated with a groan. “Listen, as delightful as this has been, I really ought to give her a hand if we’re going to eat dinner within the next hour or so. And I should mingle with our other guests. Just do me a favor and keep this to yourself. This situation is already complex enough; I don’t need rumors to push it to total insanity.” He stood, dropped a brotherly kiss on the top of her head, and made his way across the patio to help Hermione get dinner prepared.

Nearly two hours later, the group of ten former Hogwarts students had finished the dinner that had been prepared for them by Draco and Hermione – with an assist on the grill from Theo Nott, who professed to be an outdoor-cooking aficionado – and were relaxing with drinks around the fire pit.

Pansy and Blaise, who’d been best buddies since early childhood, even prior to either of them becoming acquainted with Draco, had sat together and were deep in private conversation. Blaise had told the group that the reason for his trip had been to finalize plans for his upcoming marriage to a lovely, young Italian witch. He’d had business at Gringotts and with the family’s solicitors to complete contract and pre-nuptial agreements. He seemed happy with the developments, and would be returning to Milan in a day or two to complete the plans for their wedding ceremony that would happen in a few months. He’d expressed hope that all of them would be available to attend.

Daphne was a quiet and reserved young woman, but she’d had a couple of cocktails which had loosened her tongue a bit, and she’d had the group practically rolling on the ground with her telling of the story of Theo’s hilariously botched first attempt at a marriage proposal. Her new fiancé finally reminded her of just how perfectly right he’d got it on the second try, and the two had been canoodling since.

Ginny had chosen to sit between Neville and Hermione, better to observe the interactions between her best gal pal and the birthday boy while still having conversation with the young man who had become an on-again-off-again beau. They were currently in an “off” phase, but seemed to be making their way back to “on.”

Luna Potter just had to be the one who broke the ice. “I don’t know about anyone else, but that pool is calling to me. There’s nothing better than a swim at dusk,” she claimed.

Soon, everyone was making his or her way to either the bath house or one of the bathrooms in the house to change into swimsuits. Hermione and Draco had each gone to their own bedrooms, parting ways somewhat inelegantly in their shared study. When Hermione emerged, wearing a relatively modest two-piece suit in a bright floral print, covered by a diaphanous sarong, she didn’t hear any noise coming from Draco’s side of the suite. Since she’d had to re-twist her hair, the shorter length meaning that it was a bit more likely to escape its confines, it was very likely that he’d already beat her back to the pool.

In fact, Hermione was last to return to the patio and everyone else was already in either the pool or the Jacuzzi. She quickly made note of who was where and located the two people she was most anxious to speak to, in one case, and observe, in the other. To her great fortune, they were not in the same place. Ginny was in the Jacuzzi with Neville, while Draco, along with all of the other guests, was in the pool.

As she approached the hot tub, Hermione untied the knot holding her sarong together and allowed it to fall away. She draped it over one of the chaises and grabbed a towel, dropping it next to the Jacuzzi, just within arm’s reach. She saw Ginny’s smirk and huffed in exasperation. “What now?” she demanded.

“Nothing. Just someone’s eyes ready to pop out of his head,” Ginny replied in that annoying sing-song she adopted when there was an ‘I-told-you-so’ in the making.

“Will you cut it out? He’s not paying any attention at all,” she protested.

“Au contraire. He’s not paying attention only when you’re looking at him. He’s been quite adept all evening at the ‘askance glance’ and the ‘instant redirect.’ It’s been quite amusing to watch, actually,” she claimed.

“I think you’re seeing things,” Hermione accused.

“Nope. Think about this – Where did he sit at dinner?” Ginny asked.

“Across the table,” she answered. “So?”

“All the better to observe your every move,” Ginny argued.

“What, or who, the devil are you two talking about?” Neville interrupted.

“Nothing,” they replied in unison.

He chuckled deeply. “I can tell when I’m not needed.” He pushed himself up and out of the hot tub. With a wink at Hermione, he left his parting shot. “Don’t worry. All your secrets are safe with me.”

As Neville made his way to the pool, Hermione glared at Ginny. “The last thing I need is anyone else thinking I’ve got a thing for Draco.”

“Why? Would it be such a disaster to be involved with a hot, sweet, thoughtful, rich, and - did I mention hot – guy who also happens to think the sun rises and sets on you?”

“How can you say that? There’s no evidence to support that theory.”

“I beg to differ.” The smug look on her face made Hermione want to bop her.

“What?” she demanded.

“Don’t look now, but I’ll give you two guesses who’s headed over here, and if you move a muscle, I’ll Stupefy you where you sit,” Ginny warned.

“Don’t you dare leave me!” Hermione begged.

“And miss all the fun? Not a chance, at least not until I get another eyeful of that luscious body,” she teased.

Within seconds, Draco was standing at the steps, looking down at the two ladies who were absorbed in some kind of glaring contest. “May I join you?”

“Of course!” Ginny answered while Hermione smiled a bit awkwardly. The redhead the shifted her position so that Draco had no choice but to sit between them.

When Draco briefly turned around to answer Theo’s question about where to find a restroom, Ginny mouthed to Hermione, “Relax. He’s your friend, isn’t he?”

Hermione rolled her eyes at her friend, but seemed to take her advice, at least to some degree. She finally sat back against the curved rest and allowed the warm water jets to pulse pleasantly against her skin.

“This feels fabulous,” she said aloud, to no one in particular.

“I couldn’t agree more,” came Draco’s reply. “The pool is terrific, but this is relaxing at a whole different level.”

“No argument from me,” Ginny interjected, “but I’ve had all the relaxation I need, for now. I could go for a little exercise, so I’m off to the pool. Stay here and have fun!”

As Ginny reached for her towel, Hermione felt a wave of magic ripple across her lower body. She quickly realized that her so-called friend had hit her with a non-verbal sticking charm, causing her swimsuit bottoms to adhere to her seat. She wouldn’t be leaving the Jacuzzi until Ginny lifted it voluntarily or it wore off on its own, which was likely to be at least thirty or forty minutes, unless she found a way to wriggle out of her bottoms, a scenario that was so far outside the realm of possibility that it might as well have required a dance on the moon. She fumed silently for a moment, but resolved not to take it out on Draco. It wasn’t his fault and he shouldn’t have to bear the brunt of her annoyance for Ginny’s underhanded, sneaky behavior.

She decided to be gracious to the birthday boy and asked, “Are you having a good time tonight?”

Draco grinned happily. “I am. It’s been wonderful to catch up with my old friends. I hadn’t realized how much I missed them. And yours have been nothing less than accepting and amiable. I can’t thank you enough for doing this for me.”

“It’s been my pleasure. You’ve worked so hard over the last few months, and truthfully, for the last few years. You deserve to reap some of the rewards, and that certainly includes spending time with people you like.”

Feeling just a bit emboldened by the three (or maybe it was four – he’d lost track) cocktails that he’d consumed over the course of the evening, Draco ventured a compliment. “Well, then, you’ll always be at the very top of that list.”

Hermione blushed and made light of his flattery. “I think, then, that you’ll need to expand your horizons. I’m not all that special.”

“Oh, yes, you are. You must know how much I enjoy our time together, and it’s not just because of Louisa. You’re kind, and sweet, and so ridiculously smart, and lovelier than a witch has a right to be.” He was uncharacteristically forward in his delivery, looking directly into her eyes rather than his usual habit of judiciously avoiding what could be interpreted as staring.

Hermione was left speechless for a moment, unsure how she should respond. She weighed the options and finally settled on simply thanking him for his kindness. “Thank you; it’s sweet of you to think so.” In the meanwhile, his proximity to her was causing her to notice more of him than she’d previously taken the time to do. After the episode when she’d helped him apply pain potion to his back after a strenuous flying session, she knew that he was fit. His shoulders and back were clearly strong and lean, with just enough muscle to show definition without being bulky. He always wore his clothing well, and the few times she’d seen him wearing shorts during the recent spell of excessively warm weather, his legs were similarly shapely – though as she thought about that term in relation to a man, she was tempted to giggle – and dusted with the lightest smattering of fine, blond hair.

Although she’d been bickering with Ginny when he’d approached, she had not been blind to seeing his naked chest for the first time that she could recall. It had been a moment she wished could have lasted a bit longer. Trying to be slightly dispassionate about the whole concept, she catalogued his attributes mentally as though reciting something from her anatomy texts. His pectorals were finely sculpted, leading to equally well-defined abdominals. Both his forearms and his biceps were well-shaped. She assumed that heavy and repetitive work in the restaurant had developed those muscles over time. Because the water level in the hot tub barely reached mid-chest, she could see that his chest was smooth and hairless, and two pale pink nipples seemingly called out to be touched.

With a start, Hermione shook herself from her musings, fearing that he would have noticed that she was practically ogling him.

She really shouldn’t have been concerned, however, because Draco was too busy minutely examining what he could of her own shapely figure to have noticed that he was the object of her scrutiny.

He’d also been reflecting that it had been a nearly perfect day. Spending the morning and early afternoon alone with her, working together to complete the preparations for the party, had been blissful. They’d seamlessly cooperated to achieve all the myriad tasks that had been required. He’d been utterly blown away, too, that in the short time they’d separated to take care of other needs, she’d taken the time and effort to create such a warm and inviting scene for him and their guests. Draco had been so touched that he’d fought to control his emotions, threatening to blubber like a baby at how special she’d made him feel, regardless of her motivations.

Draco thought about how beautiful she had looked when she came down the stairs in that perfect blue sundress. She’d looked so fresh and innocent, and at the same time incredibly alluring. He thought that what made her so enticing was that she had no idea just how striking she was, at least in his eyes. When he’d seen her return to the patio after she’d changed into her swimsuit, he’d nearly keeled over at the sight. Having been on the edge of arousal all day, just being near her, the situation had become critical. He’d had to use a wandless concealment charm (no small feat, as it had been longer than he cared to think about that he’d done such a thing) to hide the evidence from her and everyone else. Sitting this close to her now, with both of them barely clothed, was threatening to undo him entirely. It was all he could do to keep his breathing under control. He knew that anyone who looked into his eyes would immediately see how they’d darkened with need.

He slowly became aware that neither of them had spoken in a few long moments, but neither had they moved apart or actively ignored each other in favor of other targets of attention. The lull had seemed to form a bubble of quietude around them, and he barely noticed the boisterous laughter and splashing that was coming from the pool. It did, however, take him another moment to realize that as much as he’d been scrutinizing her, she seemed to be watching him. He deliberately shifted his gaze to her face, hoping that he’d not been caught staring at the area between her shoulders and her waist.

While the evening had brought a slight relief in the temperature, the humidity had, if anything, increased. He noticed that it was playing havoc with her naturally curly hair. She’d had it cut a bit shorter recently, and he’d thought that the new, more layered cut was very flattering. He had noticed, however, that the new cut made it more challenging for her to keep it tamed into ponytails and up-dos, especially when such closeness caused the curls to tighten of their own volition. This inexorable process was what compelled him to reach out and touch her, taking one of those wayward curls and tucking it behind her ear. 

While she didn’t flinch away at his touch, it seemed to him that her breath had hitched. Immediately, he offered an apology, hoping that he’d not frightened or insulted her. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what made me do that. Please, forgive me,” he begged.

He was somewhat relieved when she smiled in response, telling him that she just hadn’t expected it. “No harm done,” she’d said brightly. “My hair is always in need of some repair or another.”

“It’s like you – lively and with a mind of its own,” he answered. “Nothing wrong with that.” As he watched a bit of a blush stain her cheeks, Draco had all he could do to not lean over and kiss her. If he wanted to maintain any level of self-control, he’d need to change the dynamic, and quickly.

Thus, he reached out his hand, palm up, and made an invitation. “Everybody’s having a blast in the pool. Why don’t we join them?”

She only seemed to hesitate for a heartbeat before taking his hand and allowing him to pull her up and out of the Jacuzzi. Together, although he’d reluctantly released her hand, they joined their guests in the pool and the raucous game of Knock-Off that they’d been playing. Draco immediately began to reconsider the wisdom of his decision. The idea of her sitting on his shoulders was sending shocks and shivers throughout his nervous system. Could he do it without embarrassing either himself or her, he wondered? The constant badgering from their friends made refusal impossible, so he’d stood in the water at the side of the pool, which allowed her to take her place perched above him. He was begging every deity he’d ever heard of to grant him patience and calm, and her forgiveness, should it be necessary.

His fears had proved unfounded when, nearly an hour later, they’d simply had a fabulous time. It had been quite a workout for Draco, treading water with a one-hundred-thirty-pound person atop his shoulders, but he’d been happily distracted from the exertion by the opportunity to hold onto her smooth, lightly tanned legs for a while. Using the excuse of a better grip now and again, he’d managed to run his hands along the entire length of them during the game. He hadn’t heard any protests, nor had she slapped him for being too familiar, so he was hopeful that there would be no negative repercussions.

Finally, everyone had had enough of the shenanigans in the pool and they were all ready to relax for a bit before calling it a night. Fresh drinks were poured and Draco, with prompting from Hermione, had cut up the birthday cake that had been delivered by his mother’s head kitchen elf. He’d moaned in pleasure over the delectable treat. While Hermione had initially refused a slice, protesting that she was too full for even a bite, he had cajoled until she’d accepted a taste from his own fork. The simple intimacy of that had caused him to bite back a groan as his over-active imagination conjured other ways he could become connected with her sweet, pink mouth.

The evening was quickly winding down as their guests were offering their thanks for having been included in the celebration and their best wishes for an auspicious year for Draco. Soon, Draco and Hermione were alone at the pool, using wands to tidy up quickly. Draco’s only disappointment had come when Hermione decided that the night air had become just cool enough that her sarong was necessary. He held back a whimper of regret when the garment was securely retied around her.

They carried empty platters and glassware back to the kitchen where they’d set cleaning spells to handle most of the dirty work. There was nothing left to do, and an odd sense of anticipation hung in the air. Draco observed that Hermione looked a little weary, but content. Their party had been an unquestionable success, and Draco was gratified with renewed friendships and unburdened rivalries. All of it was possible only because of Hermione’s kind and gracious gesture. His heart swelled again with love and gratitude for all this amazing woman had done for him.

While he wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around her and kiss her until he couldn’t breathe, there was no doubt in his mind that any move in that direction would send her running. Still, he had to say something to let her know how thankful he was for what she had done. He had no idea where to begin with that line of conversation, so he delayed the thought by asking about her plans. “Are you staying the night, or are you planning to go back to the Manor?”

She looked at him with a bit of surprise. “Since it’s so late, I thought I’d just stay here. I wouldn’t want to wake anyone with the noise of the Floo, and I’ve had just a bit too much to drink for Apparating to be safe. Is that all right with you?”

Draco was equally overjoyed and terrified. She’d be sleeping in the same house with him, with no buffer in the form of Louisa. It allowed him to dream that her trust of him was growing, and that was a heady feeling. He finally answered her question, realizing that the moment’s delay may have given her the wrong impression. “Why would I ever object to you being here? You’re more than welcome to stay.”

She smiled and said, “In that case, I think I’ll be heading up. Are you staying here for a bit, or are you as knackered as I am?”

“Definitely knackered, but pleasantly so,” he admitted. “Shall we?” he suggested, ushering her out of the room with a wave of his arm.

He trailed closely behind her, reveling in the sway of her hips under the nearly-sheer sarong, and the scent of orchids that still, somehow, clung to her hair after all that time in the pool. The not-so-little problem that had plagued him off and on throughout the night was returning with a vengeance, and he silently recast the concealment spell that he’d had to use several times to stave off humiliation.

They reached the suite that they shared and she opened the door ahead of him, stepping in and turning to wait for him to enter. Draco was flabbergasted when she stepped closer and smiled broadly at him. Time seemed to move in slow motion as she once again wished him a very happy birthday and pressed close against him in a full hug. His worst fears were realized as she stepped back with a startled “Oh!” and her cheeks flamed. Concealment charms only hid the sight of a thing, not its actual presence.

He stuttered and murmured, “I’m so sorry,” and turned to flee. Thus, he was even more stunned when she reached out and grabbed his arm to stop him.

“No reason to apologize, Draco,” she said quietly. “There’s nothing to be ashamed about. It’s a natural, human response.”

He nodded and leaned forward to place a feather-light kiss on her cheek. Gathering every ounce of courage, he whispered back, “Only to you. Thank you for… everything,” and turned to escape to the refuge of his bedroom. If he had looked back, he would have seen her staring after him, her jaw agape and a look of bemusement on her face.


	24. Exhale

"Word has most definitely gotten around," Chef Marcel Janeford whispered, sotto voce, into Draco's ear as he seated yet another small family as he helped out in the front of the house for a moment because it has been so busy. "It looks like we're at capacity," he observed.

Draco nodded quickly. "Yes, sir. We've been turning tables as fast as the last guests leave for the past two hours."

"Amazing," he stated. "What trends are you seeing?"

"I think the article in the Salem News had a big impact," Draco noted. "We're seeing quite a majority of needy families, but we've also had others coming in who've insisted on paying for their own meal and covering the full cost of another. The donations for tonight alone have topped $1850."

Chef Marcel whistled, long and low. "That's going to cover food costs for least two full service days."

Draco agreed. "People keep talking about 'paying it forward.' I think we've really struck a chord with this project."

"You've struck that cord, son," his boss complimented. "You saw the need, found a solution, created a plan, and made it work. Look around." He waved his hand to encompass the room. "These people are eating a decent meal for once because you had the courage speak up and do something about it."

"As much research as I did, I have to say that it really surprises me how many people are struggling with chronic hunger," Draco confessed. "I'm so gratified that this is helping, but I wish I could do more."

"One day, one step at a time," the chef counseled. "You've got this up and running, and you've only just begun the campaign to get other restaurants to participate. You can't eat a whole salami in one bite."

Draco laughed at the visual. "I know you're right. I just get impatient for progress, I guess."

"And that, my boy, is why you'll be successful in whatever you choose to do with your life."

The young man shrugged modestly. "I'm not averse to working hard, especially for things that are so important to me."

"You've proved that over and over again. I wish I could convince you to stay in Salem," his mentor cajoled.

“While I’d love to keep working with you, there are obligations at home that I must – and want to – take up. I’ll promise you, though, that I will use everything you’ve taught me. My goals are to replicate the Feeding Families Foundation in the community in which I grew up. They were hit very hard by, uh, a severe economic disruption and, once I turn twenty-five, I’ll have access to resources that will allow me to make a positive impact. While I may not be a chef, I will be able to open a facility and hire the right people to make this concept work. The more I see here about how much this helps people in need, the more determined I am to do the same for my home back in the UK.”

It still shocked Draco that news of the war in England had not made it to the wizarding community in Salem. He had heard from his parents that the Light side had made overtures for aid and assistance to the American Council of Wizards and Witches during the war, and had been largely rebuffed. A few advisors and some minimal financial help had been all that they had provided. It seemed, too, that rather than sharing the news of the conflict with the wizarding populace, they had quashed the information, keeping it only to the members of the Privy Council. Draco could only guess at their motivation, but recognized that they were not the only foreign group that had refused to become involved in what they apparently viewed as a purely internal power struggle.

While his employers clearly knew of his heritage, it was rarely discussed or alluded to, and there had been few questions about his life in the British wizarding world. He thought that his penchant for privacy, along with his unimpeachable work ethic, had probably earned him the benefit of the doubt. Although he felt slightly guilty (What else is new, he scoffed) about withholding such substantive detail about his past, and his motivations for the future, he and this therapists had agreed that it almost certainly served no purpose to divulge the horrifying and dramatic details of what had truly brought him to Salem.

Draco mulled for only a moment what it would mean to abandon his heritage and stay in Salem for an extended period. While there were a handful of compelling reasons to stay, including his work at the Grapevine, loyalty to all that Bob and Marcel had done for him, his warm relationship with the Roys and their children, and most tempting, the Feeding Families Foundation that he’d only fully launched a couple of weeks earlier, the motivations to return home felt significantly stronger.

For all the support that he received from afar from his parents, he sorely missed their close presence and guidance, particularly when he was still so vulnerable. He missed England, too. Although Salem was a lovely town, and Massachusetts was well-known for its place at the pinnacles of education, medicine, technology, research, and even sports, it wasn’t home. He also felt strongly about his commitment to help his father manage the family investment business, if not immediately, then at some point in the mid-term future. It wasn’t just that he felt the obligation; he had learned so much during his studies in the last two years that he had developed a genuine interest in business management and finance.

One of his strongest pulls was, as he'd told Chef Marcel, to establish a facsimile of the Feeding Families Foundation for the wizarding community in the UK. He had been unsurprised to learn that there were many families suffering deeply in the aftermath of the war. At his request, his mother had done some quiet digging to learn about the number of orphans who’d been left behind, their parents having been victims of the war on both sides. One of the lessons he’d learned is that children should not pay for their parents’ sins. He’d been stunned when he heard that the number had exceeded one hundred. His first request of his parents had been that they include the three wizarding orphanages that served England, Scotland, and Ireland in their charitable giving, and had been thrilled when they’d told him that substantial operational support had already been given.

The broader damage done to the wizarding world’s economic interests, however, were slower and more difficult to repair. That meant that it wasn’t simply orphans who were suffering. Many small businesses had been victimized by the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters in ways ranging from simple destruction of product and property, to extortion for ‘protection’ that was never really afforded. The result had been financial ruin for countless families, and Draco wanted to ensure that they were not forgotten when he had the wherewithal to help.

As he had told Chef Marcel, it was not his intention to be the chef for the non-profit restaurant he planned to open. His skills were fine as a sous chef, but he was not prepared to manage a kitchen with what he anticipated would be a very brisk level of business. His goal was to hire a terrific chef and the remaining necessary kitchen and management staff. He saw his own role as the financier, cheerleader, and visionary for the enterprise. That did not mean, by any measure, that he didn’t intend to have daily and intimate involvement; he would simply ensure that people who were best skilled would be engaged to execute the day-to-day operations.

His final motivation in returning to England was what he thought was almost certainly a futile exercise, but one that he would undertake nonetheless. He was strongly compelled to see Hermione Granger at least one more time, with the goal of letting her know that he had worked hard to make himself at least somewhat worthy of the gift of freedom, both literal and figurative, that she have given to him by virtue of her forgiveness and her testimony. He wanted one more opportunity to thank her, face-to-face, for all she had done. Then, he would leave her to her life, no matter how much it would break his heart to walk away from the one woman he would always love.

For the moment, however, he had no more time for wool-gathering. There were hungry people to feed and chores to do.

XXXXX

At seventeen months old, Louisa Granger Malfoy had progressed well past first steps and straight into toddling all over the expansive Manor that she and her mother shared with her grandparents. While not always completely steady on her feet, the child was intermittently speedier than a kneazle being chased by a Hippogriff. At the moment, she was herself the chaser, running at full tilt after Polly, the young house-elf who had appointed herself as the little girl’s personal playmate. The elf, who was nanny-elf Anjie’s granddaughter, was laughing and squealing nearly as much as Louisa was.

Following swiftly and closely behind was the toddler’s mother, who was, as usual, running later than she’d like for her morning lecture. She was never actually tardy, but since it had always been her preferred practice to be early for everything, arriving just in time was considered a personal failure. No matter how often her friends and her – gods, she never knew exactly what to call the Malfoys, she thought – urged, cajoled, and pleaded with her to lighten up on herself, Hermione Granger had always been, and would likely always be, a perfectionist, whether in deed or in pure preference.

As she turned a corner in her pursuit, she caught a glimpse of herself in a gilded mirror and stopped abruptly. What she saw was a frazzled, harried woman, hair untamed and eyes marred by dark circles. At twenty-four years old, the picture presented in her reflection was jarring. She looked nearly ten years older, she thought, although that premise would likely have been challenged by her friends. Moreover, she felt older – drained, exhausted, overwhelmed. While a great big chunk of her wanted to sit on the floor and cry, there was a reserve of strength that had always served her when she’d called upon it in the past.

As Louisa continued on her game of chase with Polly, Hermione’s memory was drawn back to the days during the war when she’d tried to decipher clues, mysteries, and puzzles on her own, and had suffered exhaustion to the point that Albus Dumbledore had forced her to take five full days off. He’d gone so far as to place magical wards that barred her entry to the lab, the library, and even his office. Overworking had been a pattern throughout her life, she recognized. Back then, Albus had insisted on pairing her with Neville as a research partner, and they’d worked together well, once Hermione had relinquished her need to be in total control of every element of their work. Upon reflection, she thought that there may have been broader trust issues involved in her need to micromanage.

“History repeats itself,” she whispered to her mirror image. She wondered if she had simply forgotten the lessons she’d learned about the substantial benefits of accepting freely-given help, or if she’d fallen back into familiar comfort zones because there was more to protect in her current circumstances. Her training was giving her answers that were dramatically at odds with her instincts, and there was another moment of doubt based on whether she’d actually absorbed any of her lessons beyond the intellectual level. This was a moment of truth, or at least it needed to be.

In her mind, there were two questions to consider. The first was whether accepting – or asking for – help diminished her in any way. Did it make her less worthy of her achievements? Did it minimize her self-image as a capable and well-balanced person? The second was whether the help would be there when she needed it, if she were able to muster the courage to ask. She immediately recognized that the second question was the easiest to answer, and it was an unequivocal “yes.” She had no doubt that Narcissa, the house-elves, and even Lucius would drop everything to ensure that she and Louisa had whatever they needed in the moment.

The first question was decidedly more difficult. Even in the wake of the mid-term exams that had placed such stress on her that she’d begun to waiver in her firm commitment to handle her obligations on her own, she’d ultimately not had the nerve to break that unspoken promise. She further considered some of the precepts she’d learned in her Mind Healer training. Contrary to instinct, she and her classmates were taught that there was greater strength in recognizing a problem and taking steps to solve it with help than in suffering silently and thinking it a weakness to reach out.

She knew this to be true; it would take every ounce of her vaunted Gryffindor bravery to admit the need and desire for help. As she considered, too, how much she respected Draco for the help he sought through the therapy he was undergoing in Salem, she recognized that she was being not a little hypocritical in maintaining her virtual, if not literal, isolation.

There was no question that their problems were of a different nature, and she’d felt that the intensive therapy she’d undergone in the immediate aftermath of his attack on her had been truly thorough and healing. It had helped her own heart to know that he was so remorseful for the act over which he’d had no control. She had absolutely no doubt in her heart or her mind that she had fully, completely, and freely given her forgiveness to him. Now, though, she briefly wondered if her strong desire to maintain such tight-fisted control of her actions and environment may have been a subtle legacy of her kidnap and rape. It took only a split second for her to reject that premise, though, as the behaviors she was exhibiting today had been part of her temperament throughout her entire life. She would not add bad karma to Draco’s universe in laying blame for any of this at his feet. He didn’t deserve it, and she would claim her own responsibility for her struggles. The question remained, though, whether she could make the leap of faith that would be required for her to loosen her iron grip.

She took a deep breath and looked again at her reflection. Time was ticking away and she still hadn’t corralled Louisa, nor finished dressing for the class she needed to attend in just forty minutes. Fixing her hair would take five of those minutes, if she took the shortcut of using a touch of gel to tame the curls and pulled it into a short ponytail. She’d already showered and donned her lingerie, but her current garb consisted of a dressing robe and slippers. Makeup to cover the dark circles would take another five minutes. She calculated that she had ten minutes, tops, to eat breakfast and dash through the Floo, and that would get her to the lecture hall with seconds to spare. There was simply no time to tend to Louisa’s needs if she were to tend to her own. Narcissa’s words of weeks earlier echoed in her head: “If you don’t take care of yourself, there’ll be nothing left to care for anyone else.”

Steeling herself against what she hoped would only be brief emotional angst, she called out loudly, “Narcissa, I need you.”

XXXXX

It had been seven weeks since the Feeding Families Foundation had started its full operations. Draco’s vision for how the project would work on a day-to-day basis had stayed largely intact, but he and Chef Marcel had made a handful of minor adjustments to account for the marginally higher demand than they’d estimated, and to ensure optimal efficiency as they learned from both mistakes and successes.

They’d had a follow-up visit from the reporter at the Salem News when she had had inquiries from other restaurants in the community after the introductory article had been published. It seemed that word was spreading quickly and it had added great cache to the Grapevine’s reputation, as Bob had predicted. A new article had been published in the Sunday edition of the paper, and as it recounted the project’s goals and achievements, it had also generated more traffic in the five days hence. There was even a rumor that one of the local Boston television news stations was toying with the idea of doing a feature story about their endeavor.

“Draco, when you have a minute, can I see you in my office?” Bob requested as he made his way through the kitchen.

“Be there in two minutes. Just have to finish seasoning this chowder,” he replied.

True to his word, Draco knocked on the restaurant owner’s door in just a few moments.

“You wanted to see me?” he asked when he heard Bob’s invitation to enter.

“Hey, son, have a seat. Take a load off for a minute,” he instructed. “I want to fill you in on a few new developments.”

“For the restaurant or the foundation?” Draco asked.

Bob laughed heartily and genuinely. “I’m not sure how to separate the two lately.”

Draco smiled and flushed, scratching the back of his neck in a nervous gesture. “Uh, I’m a little uncertain about how that happened. It certainly wasn’t my intention when we started his venture.”

“Are you kidding? This is the best thing to happen to the Grapevine since we hired Chef Marcel! Traffic is up seventeen percent, revenue is up nineteen percent, and donations to the foundation are, as I’m sure you know, outpacing what we expected by twenty-two percent,” he recounted. “This has been an unqualified success, without even considering that your main goal of feeding hungry people in need is being met every single day.”

Draco’s smile broadened. “I did know about the donations number, but I hadn’t heard any details about the rest. It did seem that there was more foot traffic over the last few weeks, but I took that to be mostly Foundation customers,” Draco admitted.

“They do account for some of it, but not all, by a long stretch,” Bob agreed. “We’re doing some parallel tracking on other numbers, too, and it’s not just revenue improvement. It’s profitability too. We’re wasting less, and the Foundation allows us to deduct the cost of food and materials that are used for that purpose, so it’s a major win-win scenario.”

“I knew that there would be some profit impact, but I hadn’t expected it to come so soon,” Draco added. “I’m really thrilled that it’s worked out this way.”

“There’s more,” Bob noted.

Draco raised an eyebrow in question. “Really?”

“You’re going to love this one,” Bob said with a cackle, rubbing his hands together. “After I talked to Sandy – you know, the Salem News reporter – I had a conference call with six other restaurant owners in the greater Salem area, and they all want in. There was even one guy from Haverhill and another from Cape Ann. This sumbitch is spreading faster than a wildfire, kid.”

Draco was flabbergasted. He was so overwhelmed that he felt his eyes tear up and his throat choke with emotion. When he opened his mouth to speak, nothing came out.

As jubilant as Bob had been a moment earlier, he was deadly solemn in the blink of an eye. “Son, I know you’ve had a rough couple of years. Why that is, I don’t have any idea and I don’t need to. It’s clear to me, though, that you’ve been struggling with something pretty big. I also know that, lately, things have been getting better. You don’t have that haunted look in your eyes nearly as often. I just want you to recognize how proud we are of everything you’ve done here, and how proud you should be of yourself. You’re making a real difference in this community, and there aren’t very many people who can lay claim to that.”

“Thank you, Bob,” he replied hoarsely, swallowing back the tears that had threatened. “There’s a lot that I just don’t have the strength to talk about, but you’re right that the last two years have been difficult. It’s something that I need to do, though, and I feel like I’m learning more every day about who I am and what I want to do with my life. Working here with you and Chef Marcel has given me opportunities that I never imagined, and if I can turn that into something positive beyond myself, well, that’s something that’s very humbling.”

Bob shook his head slowly. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: You are a remarkable young man, Draco Malfoy. With all you’ve done so far, I can’t wait to see what miracles you’ve produced ten years from now. And if that’s here or back in England, I want to know about it. I feel like I’m witnessing the beginning of some kind of revolution.”

“Whatever that is, you should know that much of the skill I’ve learned here, and certainly the work ethic, deserve a great deal of the credit,” Draco asserted. “If I’d seen the problem, but not been working here, I know that it would have upset me, but I don’t know that I’d have had the inspiration to actually do something about it.”

“Then everyone is lucky that I had the brains to hire you two years ago,” Bob retorted. “And speaking of hiring, there’s one more thing that I wanted to tell you. Because of the increased business, we’re going to be able to hire two new full-time staff and three more part-timers. You’ve managed to help the unemployment rate, along with everything else,” he teased.

“That’s great news!” Draco enthused. “Do you think I might be able to borrow the part-timers for a few scheduled hours on the Foundation side?”

“Whaddaya think I’m hiring them for, you doofus?” Bob said, breaking into a roaring laugh.

“Oh,” Draco answered, astonished at Bob’s magnanimous gesture. “That’s fabulous news. Thank you.”

“That’s all I wanted to share with you, for now,” Bob stated. “How much longer do you have on your shift today?”

“About an hour and a half. Why?”

“Are you done with all the stocks and chowders for the day?” he wondered.

“Everything’s done. I was just checking the final seasonings before I came in,” Draco confirmed.

“Excellent. Why don’t you spend the rest of your shift with the Foundation, then? Tell Marcel I pulled you,” he suggested.

Draco nodded. “Thanks. He really shouldn’t need me, especially for the dinner shift. There’s more than enough to last through the evening. We may even be able to spare some for the Foundation, but I’ll double-check with him before doing anything on that. Thanks again, Bob, for everything.”

Bob had risen from his chair and was moving out from behind the desk. He reached out and offered his hand to the young man whom he’d grown to admire and like so well. “No, Draco, thank you,” he replied with sincerity. “Your idea has been utterly transformative, in the best ways possible.”

The two men shook hands and Bob clapped Draco on the shoulder. “Now, get out of here. I’ve got a shitload of phone calls to return.”

Thus began Draco’s latest tour of duty in the Foundation’s kitchen, preparing fresh salads and side dishes for their guests. He was chopping tomatoes to add to a ratatouille when Geoff, one of the senior waiters, opened the kitchen door and asked him to step out into the dining area for a moment.

“What’s going on?” Draco asked.

“There’s a little girl here who wants to say ‘thanks’ to the man in charge, and she won’t take ‘no’ for an answer,” Geoff replied.

“I think Bob’s still in his office,” Draco supplied.

“Oh, no, pal. She wants to talk to the Foundation head honcho, and however you want to dice it, my friend, that’s you.”

Geoff stepped aside and a young girl of about nine years old entered the beverage dispensing area they’d been occupying. She was rail-thin, but with large, expressive blue eyes and a determined expression that seemed familiar from a time in Draco’s distant past. She stood as tall as her four-and-a half-foot frame allowed, and looked him directly in the eye.

“Are you the man who created the Feeding Families Foundation?” she demanded.

“Among other people, yes, I’m one of the founders,” he replied. “What may I do for you, Miss?”

“I’m Emily, and I wanted to say ‘thank you’ for giving us meals. My daddy lost his job when the mill closed last year, and my mommy’s been really sick, so it’s been kind of hard around our house,” she told him. “You giving us food has made things better, and I wanted you to know that my little brother and I are very thankful.” She stopped and looked up into Draco’s bright, grey eyes and made a request. “Can I give you a hug?”

Draco was awed by her request and for the second time in a matter of hours, could find no words. He silently nodded, bent slightly, and opened his arms to accept her sweet gesture.

She stepped in and squeezed him tightly, looking at him with such gratitude and admiration that he wondered if he’d ever find his voice again.

As she finally pulled back, she said, “You’re a very nice man, and you smell good, too.”

That innocent and immensely amusing comment was enough to break him out of his silence, and Draco laughed softly. “Well, Emily, my name is Draco, and it’s easy to be nice to little girls and boys who are as polite as you. I hope your mommy gets better very soon, but until your situation improves, you and your family are welcome to join us for meals whenever you like.”

“Thank you, Mr. Draco,” she repeated with a wave as she skipped off to rejoin her family.

Geoff, who had watched the entire exchange, chuckled and shook his head. “You’re gathering quite a following, Draco. Have you seen what the wait staff put up in the break room?”

Draco hadn’t been in the break room in weeks. He was always dashing between his two responsibilities on site, off to classes or study meetings, or rushing to make therapy appointments.

“No, I haven’t been back there in ages. Why?” he pressed.

“Take a minute to go back there before you leave today. I think you’ll find it fascinating,” Geoff said cryptically. “Gotta dash; I’ve got tables that need tending.”

Checking his wristwatch, Draco discovered that his shift had actually been done more than twenty minutes earlier. He returned to the kitchen to clean up his work station. After hanging up his apron and washing his hands, he decided to visit the break room to discover what Geoff had been so eager for him to see.

As he opened the door to the staff’s private retreat, his jaw dropped in surprise. Someone – or more likely several someones – had overlaid the far wall with a large rectangle of corkboard. It was more than half-covered with pinned-up notes, drawings, and simple art projects, clearly created by children. At the top was a crudely printed banner reading “Thank You Wall.”

Draco stepped closer and began to inspect the items affixed to the board. He saw a crayon drawing that seemed to depict a plate of pasta with meat balls. Another featured a chicken leg, a baked potato, and what he could only decipher as a green salad. The next item to draw his attention was a red heart, cut out of stiff construction paper and decorated with a lacy paper doily. In the center was the word “Grapevine.” There were at least thirty notes written in childish scrawl, each saying some kind of “thank you.” Another dozen were in more mature print or handwriting, each telling a heart-rending story of hardship, eased at least momentarily by the project Draco had spearheaded.

The expressions of gratitude were clearly heart-felt and spoke volumes about the difficulties suffered by the least fortunate in their small community. Each of the more detailed letters told personal stories of illness, business failures, or job losses when two of the major employers in the area had closed their doors, leaving no good-paying jobs to replace them. Having a rare evening when he didn’t have somewhere else he immediately needed to be, Draco sat heavily in one of the plastic chairs that surrounded the round table where his co-workers often took their lunch or dinner breaks.

One by one, he read each note and letter, and inspected every drawing and primitive work of art. Nearly an hour later, his heart once again in his throat and his brain reeling to process everything he’d read, Draco Malfoy finally wept.


	25. Yesterday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dramatic event causes members of the Malfoy family to consider their relationships in its wake. Warning: This chapter will likely make you hate or love the author, depending on how you choose to interpret these events. ;) Either way, leave me a note!

More than once, every adult in the household had wished to have a particular day to play over again, to allow for different choices, different outcomes, or other opportunities. If truth be told, the same was probably also an accurate reflection of the thinking of virtually every living adult on the planet. What was unusual today was that every adult present wished for the same day to be revisited, if each for their own reasons.

Hours Earlier…

The day had dawned gloomy and wet, perhaps a portent of things to come, but had brightened and warmed considerably into a perfectly typical mid-July day. Hermione was working her usual eight-to-five shift, as she did nearly every Thursday. Draco was meeting with his estate agent to discuss terms and conditions for the property he’d finally found in London to house his restaurant. Lucius was in Diagon Alley, attending meetings with clients and business partners for the afternoon. Louisa and her grandmother were enjoying the warm temperatures with a picnic, followed by a walk through the gardens and puzzles on the glass-topped wrought iron table that sat in the gazebo near the ever-flowing fountain, affording a measure of protection from the bright sun.

As the afternoon wore on, Louisa began to get restless, the attention span of a toddler having its limits. She’d already had a short nap, so she was begging her grandmother for something new to do until the family gathered for dinner in about two hours. Narcissa assigned the house-elves to tend to the preparations for the evening meal while she considered what she could do to occupy her granddaughter for the hour or so before her mother returned from St. Mungo’s, her grandfather from his meetings, and her father made an appearance to fill the family in on whether he’d been successful in obtaining favorable terms for his property purchase. The elder witch was looking forward to having her entire immediate family under one roof on a weeknight. While Draco did join them for dinner periodically, more frequently in the last handful of weeks, it was not an everyday event.

For the next hour, though, it was just the two of them – a doting grandmother and her antsy little charge.

“Mémère, no more puzzles,” Louisa whined.

Narcissa sighed softly. “I guess we have been doing this for a while,” she said, as much to herself as in reply to Louisa’s complaint. “How about a swim in the pool?” she suggested.

“No. Don’t want pool,” Louisa protested.

“All right, no pool, then. What about reading a story?” Narcissa offered.

“No story,” she rejected with a pronounced pout.

“Mémère is running out of ideas, darling. Do you have any thoughts about what you’d like to do?” she wondered.

“Pony ride,” Louisa requested without hesitation.

“Oh, sweetie, I don’t think we have time to do that. Saddling up two horses takes time, and Mummy, Papa, and Pépère will all be here for dinner soon,” Narcissa deflected, not anxious to go through the rigmarole of outfitting two animals and themselves for what could only be a very short riding session.

Immediately, Louisa’s pout deepened and crocodile tears appeared in her eyes. “But I want to,” she protested.

Hating the idea of disappointing her granddaughter, Narcissa considered how she might be able to satisfy Louisa’s request without creating quite so much work for herself or spending more time on preparation than they’d actually be able to devote to riding. After a moment, she proposed a solution that she hoped would mollify the tot.

She decided, though, that she needed to be firm about her offer, because no other scenario she could see would give them the time they needed to be ready for dinner. “We can ride on one condition. We’re going to ride together on Mémère’s horse so that we’ll be done by the time everyone returns.”

Her tone was apparently sufficiently firm that Louisa simply nodded her agreement, seeing no room for negotiation in her grandmother’s ultimatum.

Taking Louisa’s hand in hers, Narcissa followed the path through the garden and toward the stables, where she selected her favorite mare to outfit for their tandem ride. Once that task was complete with the aid of a bit of magic to lift the heavy saddle, Narcissa set Louisa upon the horse’s back, then mounted the animal to sit behind her. She eased the horse out onto the bridle path and they rode at an easy trot for several minutes, Louisa happily twittering on about the birds and flowers they encountered along the way.

Narcissa noticed that the high heat of the afternoon seemed to have finally broken, and with the change came an increasing wind. She shifted her attention momentarily from the path and Louisa’s constant babble to the skies, which had turned cloudy quite suddenly. In the distance, those clouds seemed darker and more ominous. She feared that a thunderstorm was brewing quickly.

The mare she had selected for their ride was chosen specifically for her unflappable and easy temperament. The one and only thing to which she reacted poorly, however, was a thunderstorm. Narcissa decided that caution was the better part of valor and told Louisa that they’d need to return to the stable in order to beat the coming tempest. She eased the horse around and retreated along the path they’d followed, picking up the pace to a canter, and holding on to the reins with one hand while securing Louisa firmly against her with the other. With her long history as an accomplished equestrienne, Narcissa knew she was more than capable of handling the beast safely.

When they were about a half-mile away from the stables, thunder began to rumble and, out of nowhere, the first flash of lightning blazed across the sky. Narcissa could feel the mare flinch, but she stayed steady on the path. The second flash and its resounding crack, however, prompted a small fox to dart out of the low underbrush in search of better shelter, crossing the path in front of them. This, in combination with the encroaching lightning strikes, finally caused the normally docile horse to spook, rearing to nearly vertical.

Narcissa clung tightly to her granddaughter and tried to maintain some semblance of control over the frightened horse. When a third bolt of lightning flashed, the hope of retaining their mount finally proved impossible, as the horse began to buck violently. Narcissa, still gripping her granddaughter with all her strength, was thrown from the saddle. She did everything she could to ensure that she protected Louisa from striking the ground. In that effort, she was successful, but it cost her dearly.

Free of her riders, the mare whinnied piteously and galloped off at full speed. Louisa was stunned and frightened, but seemed relatively unharmed other than a sore and swollen left wrist and a scrape or two on her knee. Narcissa lay motionless and silent, her eyes glassy and fixed. She did not respond to Louisa’s numerous attempts to rouse her with shakes, shouts, and crying. Unable to get any reaction after a few moments, Louisa began to shriek, terrified over her grandmother’s condition and the storm that was quickly becoming virulent, the rain now having begun in earnest. While the overhang of trees in their location gave them some small level of protection against the deluge, the danger for close lightning strikes was multiplied. If Louisa could not understand this cognitively, there was certainly some instinct in her that recognized deep danger for her and her fallen grandmother. Anyone who observed her would note that it was clear that she was torn over staying with her grandmother or leaving to seek out help. She did the best her child-mind could conceive and screamed at the top of her lungs for Anjie, her nanny-elf.

Anjie’s elf magic drew her immediately to the scene, where she found her tiny charge clutching her grandmother’s hand and weeping.

“What’s happened, Louisa?” Anjie demanded.

“We fell off horse,” she replied through her sobs. “Mémère hurt. Please fix Mémère,” she pleaded.

Anjie wrung her hands with great anxiety. As a lifelong nanny, she knew a substantial amount of healing magic, but it was eminently clear to her that her mistress’ condition was far beyond her ability to repair. She knew that she needed to get help as quickly as possible, but she couldn’t abandon her mistress nor leave Louisa out in the elements. She summoned Polly, who had taken a great liking to the child, and ordered her to take the tot to her nursery.

She also cast a shield charm to protect Narcissa’s supine form from the storm, summoning a blanket from the stable to keep her warm. She dared not move her; it seemed clear that there was a neck or spinal injury, and that required the attention of a fully qualified Healer. Finally, she called for another house-elf and instructed him to watch over Narcissa while she went for help.

While there was no direct wizarding equivalent to a Muggle-style emergency line, Anjie was able to make a Floo connection to St. Mungo’s and to convey with enough clarity the urgent need for medical care for her injured mistress. In moments, she welcomed the arrival of an Emergency Medical Healer and took him immediately to Narcissa’s location via elf Apparition.

He immediately extended and reinforced the shield charms that Anjie had cast, and went to work on diagnosing Narcissa’s injuries, waving his wand and speaking incantations, then taking note of the array of issues that needed to be repaired. He turned to the house-elf who had refused to leave her mistress’ side.

“Is there anyone else home?” he inquired.

“No adults, sir, but I expects Master Lucius very, very soon,” she told him.

“Is there a way you can reach him now?” His tone was clipped and urgent.

“Not that I know, but Missy Hermione is at the hospital,” she offered.

“Who’s that?”

“She’s ours, and she works at St. Mungo’s. She’s a Mind Healer,” she replied.

While the Healer didn’t quite understand what the elf meant by “ours,” it seemed clear that the woman to whom she referred was someone connected to the family and with a position of some authority. That would do. “Go. Call her now and bring her here,” he ordered.

When Anjie left to comply with his demand, he turned his attention to casting spells to stabilize Narcissa’s condition as much as possible, given the adverse weather and the severity of her injuries.

Back inside the Manor, Anjie once again fired up the Floo connection and called out for St. Mungo’s, this time specifying the need to speak to Healer Granger when the Floo operator answered. She waited for about two minutes before Hermione’s face appeared in the ashes.

“Missy Hermione, you must come home now! She’s hurt,” Anjie exclaimed.

Since the identity of the injured person was wasn’t immediately clear, and if someone was hurt, it didn’t really matter anyway, Hermione dashed through the Floo connection, pausing only long enough to ensure that the she had possession of her wand.

“Who’s hurt? And where is she?” Hermione demanded, her heart pounding in her chest.

“It’s Mistress Narcissa. She fell off the horse. I’ll take you to her now,” Anjie answered quickly without taking a breath.

Hermione reached for the elf’s hand and was instantly transported to the spot where Narcissa lay, only a bit surprised to see the Emergency Healer working feverishly over her still form.

At the sound of their Apparition, the Healer looked up briefly. “Good. I’m going to need some help here,” he stated. “What are your qualifications, Healer?” he asked.

“I’m a first-year graduate Mind Healer, and I’ve completed the Accelerated Core Healer program,” she answered, assuming that Anjie must have informed him of her status as a medical professional.

“Works for me. I need you to use stabilizing spells on her head, neck, and spine while we get her into the house. I’ll do the levitating and keep the rest of her body rigid. We’re going to do this as quickly as possible without causing any jarring. On three. One, two, three,” he counted, expecting that Hermione would immediately comply and execute his orders with precision.

As they quickly and carefully moved Narcissa into the Manor, Hermione began to question Anjie.

“What happened, and where is Louisa?”

“Missy Louisa is safe in the nursery with Polly,” Anjie replied, “but she said that they fell off the horse.”

“Oh, gods,” Hermione said through a gasp. “We’ll need to check her over, too. She could be injured internally.” She tried not to sound panicked, but it was barely possible to maintain her professional demeanor when Narcissa had clearly suffered a devastating injury and her daughter’s condition was unknown. She’d help the Emergency Healer, whose name she’d still not learned, get Narcissa stabilized, then call for additional help.

As they entered through the patio at the rear of the east wing, Hermione heard the rush of the travel Floo activating and called out to whomever had arrived.

“Back here! We need help!”

She heard the sound of heavy, pounding footsteps and saw Draco barreling down the hall, having heard the high urgency in her tone.

“What the fuck!” he shouted.

Hermione spoke rapidly, “She apparently fell off her horse. Please, go check on Louisa. She’s in the nursery.”

Before she’d even finished the sentence, Draco nodded his acknowledgement and took off at full speed up the stairs. He burst into her room and found her cuddled on her bed, whimpering softly. Polly was seated at the foot of the bed, wringing her hands nervously.

Rushing to her side, Draco kissed her and said, “It’s going to be okay, sweetheart. Papa’s here. Tell me where it hurts.”

She lifted her left arm for him to inspect, fat tears running down her cheeks. It was swollen, but he couldn’t tell by visual inspection whether it was sprained or broken. Draco cast a numbing spell over the area to reduce the pain, then cast another to see if he could determine the extent of her injury.

The orange glow resulting from his spell told him that it was a nasty sprain, but there was no break. Breathing a sigh of relief, he cast a spell to reduce the swelling, and another to immobilize it so that she wouldn’t cause further damage. He sent Polly to find a pain reducing potion while he checked her for other injuries, and was immensely relieved to find only a small scrape on her knee, which had apparently been cleaned by the elf.

When Polly returned, he fed a spoonful of the pain potion to Louisa, then gathered her into his arms and hugged her tightly. “Papa’s so glad that you’re okay, sweetheart. Can you tell me what happened?”

She looked up at him with sad, frightened eyes. “Horse got scared of the storm. We fell off,” she related.

“You and Mémère were on the horse together?” he asked for clarification.

She nodded in response. “She felled first.”

It seemed pretty clear that Louisa didn’t have enough verbal skill to accurately describe what had happened, and it seemed certain that his mother was also in no condition to communicate. He decided that Legilimency would be the only way to get an idea of how they’d been injured.

“Sweetie, Papa needs you to sit still for a moment and look into my eyes. Don’t look away until I tell you to, okay?” he instructed.

She nodded her understanding and did as he asked.

“Legilimens,” he said, and began to gently probe through her memories. Since the event had been so recent, and so traumatic, it was likely that he’d be able to find her memory of it quickly.

In moments, he located what he was looking for. “Oh, geez,” he said with a gasp as he watched the scene unfold.

Finally, he had enough information to form a relatively clear picture of what had happened. There was no doubt in his mind that his mother had saved his daughter from serious injury, or worse. She had clearly sacrificed herself for her granddaughter. He could barely breathe over the lump in his throat.

Hugging Louisa tightly, he encouraged her to rest for a while. “Take a little nap, baby girl. Papa’s going to see how Mémère’s feeling. I’ll come back up for you in a bit.”

Louisa nodded her assent and burrowed into her pillow, succumbing to the sedative effect of the pain potion her father had given her. Draco pulled Polly aside and instructed, “I want you to stay here and look after her. I’ll come back in about a half hour to check on her. If you need me for something, don’t leave her. Send someone else to get me.”

With that, he left the nursery, intent on getting to his mother, and if it was useful to the Healer, sharing what he’d discovered about the accident.

As he made his way back down the stairs and toward the sitting room where they had been taking his mother, he heard the Floo activate and wondered if another Healer had been called, or if his father had finally returned from his meetings in Diagon Alley.

He rounded the corner and saw that it had been his father, who was calmly hanging his summer robe on the coat tree. It was clear he hadn’t heard what had happened. As Lucius turned to greet his son with a smile, the look on Draco’s face stopped him cold.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, the blood draining from his face in anticipation.

“Mother’s been hurt in a riding accident. She’s in the sitting room with an Emergency Healer and Hermione,” he answered. “Father, it doesn’t look good,” he added.

Lucius turned on his heel and stalked as quickly as he could move to the room Draco had indicated. He followed close behind.

Flinging the doors open, Lucius came to a halt as he saw the Healer and Hermione working rapidly and deliberately over Narcissa’s still form. As he took in the scene, he saw that someone had transfigured one of the sofas into a hospital-style bed, and bright lights had been placed overhead to illuminate their work. As Draco stepped up beside him, he grasped his son’s forearm tightly, as though in need of support to remain upright. Although they were both reluctant to interrupt, Draco had information that could be pertinent to their efforts.

“Excuse me,” he began, “but I was able to get information from my daughter about exactly what happened. I can share it with you if you think it could help her treatment.”

The Healer, still unidentified, didn’t look up from his work, but asked what Draco had discovered. “Give me the highlights,” he requested brusquely as he continued tending to Narcissa.

“The two of them were riding one horse, and it was spooked by lightning. They were both thrown from the horse’s back, and my mother twisted to be sure she took the brunt of the impact. From Louisa’s memories, it appears that she hit her head, neck, and upper back with a great deal of force.”

The Healer nodded. “That’s consistent with the injuries we’ve found. Thank you.”

Draco turned to Hermione briefly and said, “Louisa’s fine. She had a sprain in her left wrist and a scrape on her knee. She’s been healed, and I gave her some pain potion. She’s sleeping now.”

He could see the relief flood through her at this positive development, but it was short-lived as she turned her attention back to his mother. “Thank you, Draco. Could you do us a favor and call St. Mungo’s? We’re going to need an emergency medical transport,” she informed him. “Tell them it’s for a neurological injury.”

He nodded to indicate his understanding and left the room to do as she’d asked.

Lucius had not moved, but as his son left, he stepped closer. His voice was shaky as he asked, “Will she survive?”

The Healer paused for only a second to look at the man. “We will do everything we can.”

That answer did not provide him with the comfort that he’d sought. He stepped back and stood rigidly, watching.

Draco returned just moments later, trailed by two men, who were carrying some kind of transport bed between them. Draco stepped aside, allowing the two to approach the transfigured sofa where his mother was being treated. He watched as the Healer issued instructions and transferred the injured woman to the transport bed, ensuring she was fully secured, stabilized as much as possible, and sedated into a spell-induced coma to ensure that autonomic movement wouldn’t exacerbate her injuries. As the two men followed Hermione, who led them back to the Floo connection, the Healer turned to address Draco and his father.

“I’m Healer Herschel Keller, Chief Resident for Emergency Medicine. She’s been very severely injured. My initial examination showed that there are breaks in three of her cervical vertebrae and a deep fracture to her skull, likely resulting in traumatic brain injury. The evidence of that is acute intracranial bleeding. As much as wizarding medicine is able to do, neurological injuries of this type are notoriously difficult to treat and the outcomes are unpredictable. The first thing we’ll do is try to get that bleeding in her brain under control, as it’s the most dangerous of her injuries, but even if we can repair that, there are no guarantees. I’m sure you’ll want to come to St. Mungo’s, but please realize that it will be a couple of hours before we know anything more. I’ll see you there, I’m sure.” He extended his hand to each man in turn and asked to be directed to the Floo.

“We’ll be following shortly, as soon as I can arrange care for my daughter. Thank you for everything you’re doing,” Draco said as the Healer made to enter the Floo. As he disappeared into the network, Draco turned to his father.

“I’m going to check on Louisa, then I’m going to call Ginny Weasley to see if she can come over to stay with her for a bit,” he said. “If you want to head to the hospital, I’ll meet you there as soon as I can.”

Lucius shook his head. “I’ll wait with you here. You heard what Healer Keller said; we won’t know anything for an hour or more, and I’d rather not wander the halls of St. Mungo’s alone.”

“I understand. Maybe you could go check on Louisa, then, while I try to reach Ginny. I’m sure she would love to see her Pépère,” Draco suggested, digesting what his father had said and the surprising level of vulnerability behind it.

Although he seemed to be moving like an Inferi, Lucius agreed and slowly made the trek through the halls and up the steps to the nursery.

Draco fished his cell phone out of his pocket and scrolled through his handful of contacts for the number that Hermione had programmed in for him after she’d made good on her threat to buy Louisa’s godmother her very own cell phone. He tapped the icon to make the connection and waited for Ginny to answer, which she did on the third ring.

“Hello?”

“Ginny, this is Draco. Are you busy?” he asked.

“Not especially. I was just heading out to meet Neville for dinner. What’s going on?”

“We could really use your help, if you’re willing. My mother was seriously injured in a riding accident a short time ago, and Hermione is with her at St. Mungo’s now. My father and I want to go join them, but I don’t want to leave Louisa with just the house-elves. I’d like her to be with someone familiar. Would you be willing to come over and sit with her for a few hours?” he asked, hoping that she’d agree quickly.

“Oh, Merlin! That’s horrible. I’ll be there as soon as I can get to a Floo connection. It’ll be faster than Apparating to your outer garden and walking through. See you in about five minutes.”

Before he could offer his thanks, she had already broken the connection. He then called Hermione’s cell, which went straight to voice mail. He left a message telling her that he’d arranged care for Louisa and that he and his father would be at St. Mungo’s shortly. He followed up with an abbreviated version in a text. By the time he made it back to the front of the Manor where the main travel Floo was located, the chime indicating an in-coming visitor was sounding.

As Ginny stepped through, he was taken aback that she reached out to envelop him in a crushing hug. Aside from his surprise at the small woman’s incongruous physical strength, the sheer warmth and compassion of her gesture was a welcome balm.

“Draco, I’m so sorry about what’s happened. I’m here for the duration, whatever you need,” she said.

He stepped back slightly so that he could actually see her face, and the sincerity of her words shone through. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this,” he said. “I’m sure that the house-elves can provide anything you need, and if you want a change of clothes for tonight, I’m sure Hermione wouldn’t mind if you borrow a pajama.”

Ginny waved him off. “Don’t worry about anything. I called Neville and he’s going to come over and wait with me after he stops by my place to pick up a few things. We’ll be fine. You just worry about taking care of yourself and your mum.”

“That’s wonderful. I’m glad Longbottom will be here with you. I do want you to know that Louisa was slightly shaken up by the fall, too, but she should be fine. She has a sprain on her left wrist and a skinned knee, so you may want to just make sure she’s not bothered by those. I gave her a little bit of pain potion, so she may sleep for another hour or so. She’ll probably be hungry when she wakes up. The elves were preparing dinner for all of us, so you and Neville should eat. I’ll grab something at the hospital.”

He was speaking so rapidly that he finally realized it was a wonder that she’d been able to keep up with everything he’d said in the span of mere seconds. It seemed, though, that she understood what needed to be done, so he thanked her again with a quick squeeze and told her that he was going to retrieve his father and a few necessities before heading out to St. Mungo’s.

XXXXX

Meanwhile, in the St. Mungo’s Emergency Department, Hermione finally stepped aside to allow more experienced and qualified Healers to aid in Narcissa’s care and treatment. She knew she’d been useful to Healer Keller in getting the situation stabilized, but she had limited knowledge of healing for neurological injuries. She was relieved to be able to breathe for a moment and to process what had happened. She was less thrilled about having been kicked out of the room because of her “family” relationship with the accident victim.

She dropped into a chair in the staff lounge and rubbed her eyes. It was barely five o’clock, yet she felt as though she’d been on a sixteen-hour shift. The adrenaline rush of the moment had finally passed, and the aftermath of that was always a dramatic crash. A vibration in her Healer’s robe pocket shook her from her daze and she saw that a voice mail and a text message had been left for her. It appeared that the modifications she'd made to boost the output on the phone's internal antenna frequency with the hopes of getting better reception inside the hospital had worked. She was fairly sure they’d both be from Draco, but she needed to know the specifics. She was debating the choice of staying here and awaiting their arrival or going back to the Manor to check on Louisa. Draco’s message might help her decision.

As she read his brief text then listened to the lengthier and more detailed voice mail, she decided to wait a few moments for him and Lucius. It would allow them to coordinate their activities and ensure that the various needs of each household member were addressed.

Since they’d not be able to find her in the private staff lounge, she walked to the main visitor’s entrance to meet them there. When they came through the Floo about five minutes later, she was struck by the vacant look in Lucius’ eyes and Draco’s expression of steely determination. She hugged Lucius and hesitated less than a second before doing the same for Draco.

As they parted, Draco asked, “Are there any new developments?”

Guiding them into a slightly more private area of the main waiting room, Hermione said, “She’s in with the hospital’s Chief Neurology Healer, and our two top trauma specialists. They’re trying to get her fully stabilized before they consider treatment options.”

Draco stopped her. “Hermione, what does that really mean? Is she in imminent danger of…” he trailed off, unable to utter the work that hung so heavily in the air.

Hermione’s professionalism was at war with her deep love and caring for the woman whose life hung in the balance. She wanted to give them some shred of hope, but it would be cruel to be unreasonably optimistic. She also knew that even the brief delay of her internal deliberation was creating even greater anxiety. She sighed in frustration. “The truth is that I just don’t know. Her injuries certainly carry the potential to be life-threatening. If she does survive, there’s a possibility of everything from full paralysis, durable coma, to severely diminished physical and mental capacity. The good news is that she’s being treated by the very best Healers that we have, so if she can be healed, she has the best chance of it in their hands.”

Draco slumped against the wall momentarily, dropping his head back and closing his eyes. Before the count of five could be reached, he gathered his resolve, stood straight, and squared his shoulders. “Okay. What should we be doing now?” he asked.

He watched as she shook her head. “There’s really nothing we can do but wait. They should be done with the initial assessment in an hour or so, and we’ll have more to discuss then.”

Draco noticed that his father had been uncharacteristically silent. He made eye contact with Hermione and glanced sidelong at Lucius, drawing her attention to his unusual demeanor. Taking his hint, she reached out and took the elder man’s hand. He listened intently as she spoke to the man in barely above a whisper.

“You know that we’re going to make sure that everything that’s possible to do will be done for her. She’s a strong and generally healthy woman, and that works in her favor. We aren’t going to give up lightly, no matter what the diagnosis brings.” Draco was heartened by the warm embrace that Hermione gave to his father, who seemed to draw some comfort from her promise.

The younger wizard was shaken from his thoughts when Hermione drew his attention. “It was a brilliant idea to call Ginny, but I’ve been weighing whether I should stay here with you or go to Louisa. I know you said she’s fine, and I obviously trust Ginny, but I haven’t seen her since the accident. What do you think I should do?”

He was reluctant to give her a suggestion. He entirely understood and shared her concern for their daughter’s well-being, but he also knew, selfishly, he acknowledged, that she was a lifeline for himself and his father in understanding and dealing with his mother’s situation. Trying to think logically, he guessed that if she saw that Louisa was fine, she’d be better able to focus on the larger crisis here at the hospital. He decided that he would make that recommendation.

“She’s really fine, but I know you won’t feel better until you’ve had the opportunity to see that for yourself. She’s our baby, and I know that if I hadn’t seen her for myself, I’d be itching to go, too. Father and I will be fine here for a while. Maybe you could go back to the Manor to see her for a bit, get something to eat, and change clothes, if you want to be more comfortable. Come back here when you’re satisfied that she’ll be okay with Ginny and Neville. We – I – value your support and your knowledge, so I would be most grateful if you’d return to help us when the Healers are done with their assessment.”

Hermione smiled at him sadly. “You can’t possibly imagine that I’d not be back as fast as possible. I love Narcissa as if she were my own mother, and I’d do anything for her. And I’ll be here for you – both of you – for whatever you need. I just need to see my girl for a few minutes and give her a big hug and kiss. I’ll be back before you know I’m gone.” She leaned in to kiss Draco’s cheek, did the same to Lucius, then turned to jog back to her office to retrieve the bag she’d left there nearly two hours earlier before finally using the Floo to return to the Manor.

After she’d left, Draco turned to his father. “We should find somewhere quiet to sit until the Healers are ready to talk to us. I seem to remember a smaller waiting area at the end of this wing.” He led the way through the halls, dodging children, hobbling patients, and dazed visitors.

They found the smaller lounge, which was thankfully nearly empty of other people, and sat side-by-side in two wooden armchairs that looked significantly more comfortable than they actually were. Draco was getting concerned over his father’s abnormal silence, and tried to draw him out to understand what he was thinking.

“Father, what can I do for you?” he prompted.

Lucius seemed hesitant to look his son in the eyes. “I can’t imagine what I’d do without her,” he answered in a rough whisper.

Resting his arm across his father’s shoulders, Draco sighed deeply. “I know what you’re saying. She has been our pillar of strength, hasn’t she? When I was so broken, or when you were struggling with your loyalties, it’s always been Mum who did what was right, no matter how difficult it may have been. But you heard Hermione. There is some hope, and we need to hold on to that with all our might. However this all plays out, we need to rely on each other. Mother wouldn’t want anything less.”

Lucius nodded, but there was little energy behind the gesture. “I’ll do my best, son. Your mother… she’s everything to me.”

It was clear to Draco that he would need to provide the strength and support in their current dynamic. His father was in his own state of shock, and Draco feared that nothing less than his mother’s total recovery would rouse the man out of it. Although he wanted to be optimistic, the injuries that she had suffered forced him to face the likely reality of, at best, a long and difficult road. He didn’t yet want to allow himself to recognize the worst. The most he could do now was to wait until the Healers had definitive news.

XXXXX

Hermione arrived at Malfoy Manor just seconds after Neville had cleared the hearth, and would have toppled into him if he had not taken an extra step in his effort to balance the parcels he carried. She grabbed one of the packages that threatened to topple, and the two were met a few moments later by Ginny, who relieved Neville of the overnight bag that hung over his elbow.

“We can’t thank the both of you enough for pitching in to look after Louisa,” Hermione began. “I can’t stay long because they’ll be completing the initial work-up on Narcissa soon, and I want to be there when they share the diagnosis and treatment plan, but I have to see my little one first. Will the two of you excuse me?”

“Of course,” Ginny answered. “She was still sleeping when I came down about ten minutes ago, but you could probably wake her. Draco said that he only gave her one spoonful of the pain potion, so any sedative effect is pretty well over.”

“Great, I’ll probably do that. You know how to find the dining room, so why don’t you go ahead and call the house-elves and they’ll serve dinner,” Hermione suggested.

“Will you be joining us?” Neville asked.

Hermione mulled the decision for a moment before answering in the affirmative. “Louisa will probably want something to eat, and she’ll be a bit less fussy if I’m here, so I’ll have a quick bite. I have a feeling I’m going to need my strength for the next few days,” she admitted. With that, she waved a hand at her friends and dashed up the stairs to see Louisa.

As she opened the nursery’s double doors, the toddler was blinking the sleep from her eyes. “Mummy!” she greeted.

Hermione moved swiftly to the bed and opened her arms to enwrap her child in a hug. “Hi, my sweet. How are you feeling?”

“Sleepy, Mummy. Papa fixed my boo-boo,” she offered, showing her mother the wrist that Draco had repaired and stabilized.

Hermione kissed it, then took out her wand to perform a quick diagnostic spell. With a swish and a wave, she determined that Draco had been completely correct. It was a relatively minor sprain, all things considered, and had been appropriately repaired. It might be a little tender for a day or two, but no real harm had been done. An inspection of Louisa’s knee confirmed that the scrape was already fully healed. Just to be certain, and because the protocol had been drummed into her throughout her training, she completed a full-spectrum diagnostic sweeping spell. She was immensely relieved to find no other injuries or ailments.

“Mummy’s so glad that you’re all right,” Hermione whispered.

Then came the question that she’d expected and dreaded. “Where’s Mémère?”

“Mémère had a lot of boo-boos when she fell off the horse, so we had to take her to the hospital. They’re taking good care of her, and we hope that she’ll be able to come home very soon,” she said, knowing that Louisa couldn’t comprehend the concept of serious and life-threatening injury.

“Go visit?” she asked.

Hermione shook her head. “Not tonight, honey. They need to fix all the boo-boos first, and we have to let all the Healers do their work. Mummy will send her a big kiss from you, though,” she promised.

“Mmmwah. Big kiss,” Louisa echoed, drawing a laugh from her mother.

“Are you hungry? Aunty Ginny and Uncle Neville are waiting for us downstairs, if you’d like some supper,” Hermione enticed.

Louisa nodded happily in reply, and scrambled down from the bed, holding out her hand for her mother.

“Let’s go, then. Mummy will eat with you, then I’m going to go back to the hospital to check on Mémère. You’ll be a good girl for Aunty and Uncle, won’t you?” she asked.

“Good girl. I promise.”

“Of course you do, my precious,” Hermione acknowledged, lifting her into her arms and covering her face with kisses.

Twenty-five minutes later, the three former Gryffindors and one toddler had finished dinner, and Ginny and Neville had spirited Louisa away to her playroom so that Hermione could change and gather some food to take back to the hospital. Considering the condition in which she’d left Lucius and Draco, she wasn’t confident that they’d bother to get anything to eat, so she’d had the elves make up a few sandwiches and a pot of coffee. She’d beg, if she had to, to get them to take some nourishment. The lesson she’d learned from Narcissa nearly a year earlier had firmly taken root: If you don’t take care of yourself… And the truth was that, if Narcissa survived, she would likely need each and every one of them to take care of her for a long time to come.

XXXXX

Nearly ninety minutes had passed without further word from the Healers who were examining his mother, and Draco was becoming agitated. He paced, he bounced his heel against the floor, and he read no fewer than five magazines without absorbing a single phrase. His father, by contrast, sat completely still, only his eyes shifting every time someone in a lime green coat appeared. Draco was debating whether he should call Hermione to get an update from the Manor when she appeared in the waiting area carrying a canvas tote hung in the crook of one arm, a leather satchel over her shoulder, and a small duffle bag in her hand.

He rose immediately to assist her with the packages, and leaned in to place a peck on her cheek. “Thank you for coming back so quickly,” he said.

“Anything new?” she wondered.

Draco noted that his father had barely shaken his head in the negative, but had not spoken. He returned his attention to Hermione and said, “Not a peep since you left. We’re both getting a little impatient for news,” he admitted.

“Since I have a hospital credential, I can try to sneak back there and see if there are any conclusions or developments, but there’s no guarantee that they’ll even let me in. When they realized that your mother is my daughter’s grandmother and that I live in the same home, they invoked the rules that prohibit Healers from treating family members except for immediate on-site first aid. First, though, I’m going to leap to the conclusion that neither of you have eaten,” she guessed.

“You’re right about that, but I’m really not hungry. Besides, I didn’t want to go to the cafeteria and miss the Healers coming out,” Draco admitted.

“That’s pretty typical of families waiting for news, and that’s why I brought you some sandwiches. You need to keep up your own strength, or you won’t be any good to your mother. Healer’s orders,” she said, in that tone that allowed for no debate.

The thought of eating had truly been the furthest from his mind, but Draco had to admit that having a little something wouldn’t hurt to keep him sharper. His lunch meeting hadn’t really featured much in the way of nourishment, as the estate agent was one of those ridiculously slim women who ordered nothing but a small side salad, and left half behind. Having had similar meetings with her in the past, he knew that she’d get horribly impatient and irritable if he actually took the time to consume a real meal. Thus, he’d had a cup of coffee and a muffin. Hermione was, once again, a life saver.

“You’re right,” he agreed.

“Good. The canvas bag you just took from me has sandwiches under a cooling charm, a bag of crisps, and a carafe of coffee. There should also be plates and napkins, and mugs for both of you,” she stated.

As Draco unpacked the sandwiches, giving the roast beef with brie to his father and taking the ham and Swiss for himself, Hermione dug into the duffle bag and pulled out a couple of small pillows, which she enlarged with a silent flick of her wand. She handed one each to Lucius and Draco, saying, “These chairs are horrible. If you’re going to have any hope of saving yourself a major backache, I suggest you use them. The fact is, we’re going to be here for a while, no matter what.”

The two men sat quietly while they ate their meal and while Hermione reviewed textbooks and notes that she’d dug out of her leather satchel. After a heavy swallow, Draco nodded toward the materials she was poring over. “Neurology textbooks?” he assumed.

Looking away from her notes, she confirmed his guess. “Yeah. I’m not in a position to help the Healers right now, but I can be sure that I understand what they tell us when they’re done. You may have choices to make when they present us with her condition, and I want to be able to give you as much support as I can in recognizing the benefits and risks of different treatment options. I’ve found that Healers will often give you some choices, but don’t do a particularly good job of explaining what they mean. Some of them are even reluctant to give their own preference because they’re afraid of being sued if the outcome is not positive. If I can boil it down for you, it may make things a little less confusing and stressful.”

Lucius surprised both of them by speaking up next. “Thank you, Hermione. I won’t speak for Draco, but I know that I want your opinion and involvement in any decisions that need to be made. You are as much a part of the family as anyone.”

Draco agreed immediately. “No question. You should have a say, especially because you’re the most knowledgeable among us, but also because the two of you have a very close relationship.”

Lucius interjected once again, “You are a daughter in our hearts, if not by blood. You must know that, Hermione.”

Hermione wasn’t terribly shocked by their request, or Lucius’ pronouncement, but she was incredibly touched. “Of course. She’s very special to me, too. I’m honored that you’d ask. Now, if you’ll excuse me for a moment, I’m going to see if I can get any information, at least about where they are in the process.”

Draco watched her walk away, not taking his eyes off her until she disappeared around a corner. As distraught as Lucius was over his wife, he did not fail to notice. “She truly is an extraordinary young woman.”

The younger Malfoy was tempted to be flippant, but couldn’t find it in his heart to express his natural sarcasm, particularly as the would-be target was clearly in immense emotional distress. Instead, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees with his hands clasped before him, and agreed with his father, “Yeah, utterly extraordinary.”

“Did I ever tell you, son, about a conversation your mother and I had before you even went to trial?” Lucius asked.

Draco shook his head. “Not that I recall. Why?”

“Hermione had written a lovely letter to us, thanking us for our help in the war effort and offering her assistance in giving testimony on your behalf. This was only a day or two after you’d been retrieved from the Tonks’ cottage, as I recall.”

He made a sound of acknowledgement, encouraging his father to continue his tale.

“Your mother was so impressed with the quality of her character and the incredible grace and dignity of her gesture that she told me that, if circumstances had been different, she’d have immediately approached her as a match for you. From that moment, I think your mother’s heart decided to call her ‘daughter.’”

He’d never heard this story before, but felt that it was somehow connected to whatever scheme his parents had concocted, ostensibly on his behalf. As much as this felt like an opening to press for more information on that front, he knew it was not the appropriate time for accusations and reprisals. He decided to file the nugget away for future consideration. He also didn’t really know how to respond to his father’s revelation, so he remained silent.

The incremental progress they’d been making in their relationship hadn’t really been a topic of discussion with his parents. In fact, he’d kept his cards very close to the vest in that regard. He was certain they’d noticed that the three of them were spending a good deal more time together, particularly in the last seven or eight weeks, but any questions they’d tossed his way had been deflected with a firm, albeit polite, “mind your own business.” They were finding their own way to a deeper friendship, at least, and if he had to be content with that, he didn’t want the additional pressure of his parents’ scrutiny of every last word, look, and gesture as they made their way through to whatever their destination might be.

He was saved further discussion with the man when Hermione rounded the corner and returned to the waiting area. Draco looked at her expectantly, but immediately determined that she had nothing new, or at least nothing of substance, to report.

“They wouldn’t let me in to see her,” she stated dejectedly. “I did catch a moment with one of the trauma specialists, though, and he would only tell me that they were still working on her, and it would be a while longer. He’s not someone I know, though, so I really couldn’t read anything into his demeanor or what he said. Bottom line, we don’t know anything more, and it’ll likely be at least another half-hour before we do. We’re going to have no choice but to wait it out.”

Both men made noises of acknowledgement, and Hermione settled in to a chair beside Draco, the only spot available in the room. She returned to the stack of notes that she had been studying earlier, searching for something and nothing. As much as it felt better than doing nothing at all, until she had additional data from the Healers, this was an exercise in broad and blind revision.

It was now approaching seven o’clock and it had been nearly three hours since Narcissa had been injured, and just over two hours since she’d been transported to St. Mungo’s. Draco had taken to pacing again, and Lucius sat stiff-backed and quiet, not having spoken more than a dozen words after Hermione’s return. Most of the other waiting family members or friends with whom they’d been sharing the room had left, either visiting loved ones who’d been admitted to rooms or departed when someone had been discharged from care. Another twenty minutes passed before Draco saw the approaching figure of a Healer in traditional lime green robes. He stopped pacing and held his breath.

“Lord Malfoy?” the man confirmed as he extended his hand to Lucius.

“Yes,” he acknowledged.

“I’m Healer Brooks Quadros, Chief of Neurology. We’ve been examining your wife, and I’d like to update you on her condition.”

At this, Hermione rose and stood beside Draco, placing her hand on his arm in support. Draco took this cue to ask the Healer to include Hermione in their conversation. “Hermione is, uh, very close to us, and she’s on staff here.”

He nodded politely to her and asked where she was assigned.

“I’m a Mind Healer, and a graduate of the Core program,” she answered.

“Then I’m sure you’ll understand what I’m about to tell you,” he replied, then took a breath. “I’m afraid that the news is not good. Lady Malfoy has suffered three separate injuries as a result of her fall, each of which is life-threatening in its own right. We have stabilized her for the moment, but her condition is grave. It’s taken us this whole time to simply get her to the point where additional damage was not being done.”

Lucius looked as white as if all the blood had been drained from his body, and Hermione feared that he might collapse. With only a glance for communication, she and Draco moved in tandem to support him on either side, and guided him back to a seat.

Hermione asked, “Could you tell us the exact nature of the more serious injury, and what you recommend as a treatment protocol?”

“The worst of it is the intracranial bleeding. We’ve had a hell of a time locating the origin, and thus controlling it. It seems to be very deep within the brain tissue, and the stasis charms we typically use aren’t meant for such minute work. We believe we’ve got it stopped for now, but there has been extensive damage done. The second most critical issue is the multiple cervical fractures. There are three of them, and each are placing pressure against her spinal cord. We find no autonomous response at this time in her extremities. She also has a compression injury in the thoracic spine, which is compounding the problems of the cervical fractures. Believe it or not, the least of her problems is the skull fracture. We were able to complete a temporary repair on that, but if the bleeding, and thus the swelling, on her brain continue, we’ve learned from Muggle medicine that the best treatment may actually be to remove a small section of the cranium – or skull - to relieve the pressure.” Turning to Hermione, Healer Quadros asked, “Do you need additional explanation about the nature of the injuries?”

“No, Healer, I understand the situation,” she replied. “Have you determined next steps?”

He sighed. “Unfortunately, this is a bit of a waiting game. Injuries of the brain and spinal cord require the most delicate work a physician must do. Magical healing is extremely advanced in many areas, but neurology is still a developing discipline. We’re actually learning many best practices from some of the partnerships we’ve created with Muggle physicians. They’ve done significantly more advanced research in this area. While we find it easier to make some of the repairs than they do, they have far outstripped our ability in diagnosis, and in knowing exactly what and how the repairs must be made.”

“I’d like to recap what you’ve said in simpler terms for the Malfoys, if you don’t mind,” Hermione suggested. At his nod of agreement, she recounted the highlights for Lucius and Draco.

“The swelling and bleeding in her brain are very serious. That alone could be fatal if they can’t get it fully under control and repaired. She has no feeling or movement from the neck down because of the vertebral fractures. If the damage to her spinal cord is bad enough, it could mean that her body’s circulatory and breathing functions could stop working. The Healer thinks, and I’m inclined to agree, that allowing her to try to stabilize without further interference may be the best choice for the short term,” she explained.

Draco’s expression was full of frustration. “I don’t understand. How can doing nothing be better than doing something? And if she has damage to her spinal cord, how are you keeping her breathing and heart-beat going?”

“I understand your concern, Mr. Malfoy,” the Healer began. “We are using life-sustaining charms to ensure proper circulation and respiration. That’s a very normal protocol, and it will keep her body functioning until such time as we’re able to repair the damage, or in the worst case, the family decides to remove those supports. With regard to the wait for treating the bleeding on her brain, as much as we know about the functioning of the human body, there are still mysteries that have yet to be deciphered. In past cases, we have found that allowing the swelling in the brain to abate naturally has produced favorable results. We’re hopeful that will be the case with Lady Malfoy, but again, there are no guarantees.”

“What happens next, then?” Draco pressed.

“We will continue close monitoring of her condition for the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours. She will have round-the-clock observation, including a senior Healer in the room with her to observe her vital signs and any changes in her condition. I know how agonizing it is to wait, but sometimes there’s little else that is a good choice. These are our recommendations, and though there are other possibilities, I couldn’t support them in good conscience. Do I have your consent to proceed on this course?”

Hermione addressed Healer Quadros directly, “May we have a moment to discuss this privately?”

“Of course. I’ll step outside the room to give you some time; just find me at the Med Station down the hall when you’ve made your decision,” he replied.

Lucius had been silent, taking in what the Healer had said and weighing the debate without comment. Hermione drew closer to both men and took one of their hands in each of hers. “I think you both understand that this is not good news, certainly not what we’ve been hoping to hear, but patients have recovered from these kinds of injuries and worse. If the Healers are too aggressive in their treatment, they run the risk of doing further damage. If there’s swelling in the brain, you can’t use typical anti-inflammatory potions and spells because of the delicacy of the neurological structure. There are Muggle drugs that they could use, and if nothing changes in the next twenty-four hours, I think we should ask them to consider that. If she were my mother, which is honestly the way I see her now, I would accept the Healer’s recommendation, at least for now.” She was not surprised to feel each man tighten his grip on her hand, and it seemed that none of them wanted to let go, finding some small comfort in their shared concern.

Draco nodded at her and squeezed her hand tightly. “I trust you and your judgment. If you think this is what we should do, I’ll support it.”

Lucius seemed slightly less sure, but ultimately agreed. “There’s nothing else that I can think to do, and I’m certainly not qualified to make medical choices of this kind. I agree with Draco; if you think this is right, I will also support it.”

“Would you like me to speak with the Healer for you, or would you like to do it, Lucius?” Hermione offered.

“She’s my wife and my responsibility. I will speak to him,” he replied, seeming to find strength in squaring his shoulders and making a firm decision. With that, he walked down the corridor to find Healer Quadros, leaving Hermione and Draco behind.

He had not released her hand, and she did not seem terribly bothered by it, but Draco wasn’t sure his knees could support him for much longer. He gestured toward the small sofa and the two sat there quietly, hands still clasped, until Lucius returned a few minutes later with the news that he’d given consent for the treatment plan.

“So,” Draco said with a sigh, “we wait.”

XXXXX

It had been a horribly long and restless night, none of the three vigil-holders wanting to leave. Sheer exhaustion had caused each of them to doze off periodically, and Hermione had jerked awake when she realized that her head had found its way to Draco’s shoulder in her light slumber. He had, of course, not protested, and even encouraged her to resume her position, going so far as to put his arm around her shoulders to gather her closer.

He had just fallen back into sleep, resting his own head unconsciously against Hermione’s when they were all roused by someone saying, “Excuse me.”

The most alert of the three, Lucius immediately recognized the speaker as one of the neurology specialists who had been assigned to cover the first of the rotating six-hour shifts monitoring Narcissa’s condition. “Yes, what is it?” the elder Malfoy demanded anxiously.

The Healer raised his hands in a placating gesture and said, “There’s been no substantial change, but I’m going off shift now and I wanted to let you know that there has been one positive development and one a bit more concerning. First, it appears that one of the repairs that we were able to make in her thoracic vertebrae seems to have worked to some degree. She is responding subconsciously to pin-prick tests, although minimally. That’s to be expected, as she is under full sedation. On the other hand, the swelling in her cranium has not yet diminished. It is a bit early, but we had hoped to see at least a small improvement at this stage. My partner has taken over for the next six hours, and he’ll update you as developments warrant, or at the end of his shift.”

Draco, who was now fully awake and listening intently to the specialist’s update, had no idea what questions needed to be asked, and he looked beseechingly to Hermione for guidance. She seemed to understand his silent request and forestalled the Healer’s imminent departure for a moment with a pointed look and a raised hand.

“Have you determined whether there’s a specific reason that the swelling hasn’t abated?” she pressed.

“My partner has begun a new series of tests, but we don’t believe that there is any unidentified damage. Healer Quadros was incredibly thorough and deliberate in his examination, and he truly is the best there is. We feel reasonably confident that it’s just a product of the compounded injuries,” he explained. “Her body just needs time, I believe, and we’re hopeful that because the thoracic repairs have shown some results, we may start to see the same progress in the next couple of days with her cervical fractures.”

Draco watched the man’s face as he addressed Hermione, and couldn’t help but feel that there was something that he was holding back, and with his mother’s life in the balance, he was not about to allow anything to remain unspoken. “Hermione told us that you were one of the top specialists in neurology in Great Britain. It feels to me that you have something you’re not telling us, and I’d rather not have any surprises. If you have information, or even an opinion, I’d like to hear it,” he challenged.

The Healer hesitated for a moment, then saw the expressions on the faces of the patient’s husband, and the co-worker whom he’d only met once before, whose relationship to the family wasn’t entirely clear, although he thought she was possibly the girlfriend or wife of the patient’s son. What was crystalline, however, was their unanimous desire to hear everything he had to say. He sighed and nodded his head slowly.

“This is only my opinion at this stage, because the tests have been inconclusive, but I’ve seen more spinal injuries than I care to count, and what I see in your wife, Lord Malfoy, is not as rare as I wish it were. I think – again, I’m not certain – that while she had thoracic fractures, there was no actual damage to the spinal cord beyond some nerve swelling. That typically heals with time and treatment, sometimes including forced immobilization. My concern beyond the swelling in her brain is whether there is actual spinal damage in the cervical region, and that would create serious complications in her potential recovery. I wish I had a better prognosis that I could give you, but this is what I think, based on my experience.”

“What could you do in order to be certain? Are there no other tests that you could perform?” Draco pressed.

“We’ve used every magical option available to us,” he asserted. “We are aware of Muggle technologies that might be able to give us a slightly different picture. Healer Quadros has some experience with the equipment through a partnership program in which we participated, but we don’t have the actual machinery here at St. Mungo’s.”

“Could you get it?” Lucius asked urgently.

“I don’t know, to be perfectly honest. I couldn’t even tell you what company manufactures it, never mind how long it might take to order or how much it would cost. I do know that we don’t have a budget for that level of capital expenditure at this time,” he noted.

Draco spoke up then. “You get me that exact name of the machine and I’ll do the rest of the legwork. And I’ll pay for it. Consider it a donation to the hospital.”

“But, Mr. Malfoy, that could be over a hundred thousand Galleons,” he cautioned.

“I know that, and it doesn’t matter. I will cover every last Knut,” he professed. “You get me the name before dawn, and I’ll figure out a way to get the equipment for you by noon if I have to carry it on my back across the bloody Channel.”

The Healer recognized the look in Draco’s eyes and knew that he was utterly committed to fulfilling that mission. That equipment could help hundreds of patients over time. “I’ll have that information to you shortly,” he promised. “Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. This will undoubtedly be of great benefit in treating your mother, but the potential for merging magical and Muggle medicine, particularly in neurology, is astounding.”

“If it helps to accurately diagnose and treat my mother’s injuries, I’ll buy you one of every bloody machine the Muggles use, and I’ll be happy to spend every last Galleon in my vaults to do it,” Draco replied, extending his hand to the Healer.

Accepting the handshake, the man said, “I’ll leave you to your family for now. If you and your wife would like a quieter room to wait, I’m sure I can find an empty patient room for the two of you, and another for your father. It’d be more comfortable than staying here all night,” he offered.

Draco didn’t know quite how to answer, but was saved from the awkward moment by Hermione. “We’ll be fine here, but I think Lord Malfoy really should find somewhere to rest, for a least a few hours,” she said, her tone firm enough that even Lucius was unlikely to argue very much. The extreme fatigue was catching up to him, any adrenaline rush produced by the crisis having long dissipated, and both she and Draco finally insisted that he nap for a short while.

The Healer simply nodded and asked Lucius to follow him, which he did compliantly, telling Draco to fetch him in two hours.

When they’d gone, Draco turned back to Hermione and said, “Listen, I’m sorry about that. People make assumptions…”

She looked at him quizzically. “For what do you have to be sorry? It wasn’t an unreasonable leap, considering he found us cuddled up on the sofa, and that I’ve been here with you from the beginning. I wasn’t offended,” she added with a shrug.

He scratched the back of his head absently and his face screwed up into a half-smile, half-grimace. “Yeah, not quite sure how that happened, either,” he offered, cocking his head toward the sofa where they’d been dozing together.

She sniggered softly. “Draco, you don’t have to apologize for every time you get within two feet of me, you know. We’ve talked about this before, and it’s clear we were both in need of a little support and comforting, I’d say.” She stopped and pointed at her face. “Does this look like someone who’s offended?”

He grinned sheepishly. “I guess not.”

Hermione’s expression reflected his for a moment, then became serious. “That was quite an offer you made, Draco. Do you really think you’ll be able to find a source for the equipment that quickly?”

His shoulders dropped slightly, and he ran a hand through his hair. “All I know is that money talks, and that I’ll go wherever I need to and talk to anyone who’ll listen in order to make it happen.” He slumped onto the sofa they’d shared earlier, and made room for Hermione when she moved to join him.

She seemed to be thinking deeply, then spoke. “I’m willing to bet that he was talking about either Magnetic Resonance Imaging or CT scan equipment, maybe both.”

“If both would help, and I can find a way to get them here in the next day or so, I wouldn’t care if I completely cleaned out the vaults to do it,” he asserted.

“Knowing what I do about the Malfoy coffers, I don’t think it will come to that, but it will be a substantial expenditure. It wouldn’t surprise me to see a combined price tag of up to 200,000 Galleons.”

Draco whistled lowly as he regarded her. “Not chump change, by any stretch, but it’ll be worth it. As the Healer said, it will also potentially help dozens of other patients. It’s an appropriate investment.”

“I can’t argue that point,” she replied. “It would create a whole new approach to wizarding medicine for ailments that are not specifically magical in nature.”

“In the States, the two disciplines are combined to a much greater degree than they are here, from what I could see. Both of my therapists, for example, held Healer and Muggle medical credentials. While the International Statute of Secrecy is obviously in effect, there seems to be more crossover opportunities and regardless of what’s been the norm here in the last few decades, it’s nearly impossible to find a pureblood there,” Draco shared.

Hermione’s lips twisted as she considered what he’d said. While it was true, as evidenced by the content of her training, that many concepts from Muggle medicine were making their way into the wizarding world, the equipment that facilitated diagnosis and treatment had not. The possibilities for advancement were virtually endless, and once they were over Narcissa’s crisis, (Please, Merlin, with a positive outcome, she pleaded) this was a specialty she might like to pursue at some point in her career.

With all the possibilities swirling in her head, it took a moment for Hermione to notice that the Healer who had escorted Lucius away for some rest nearly an hour earlier was approaching them once again.

Draco was eager to learn what he’d found, and sprung to his feet with more energy than even he thought possible after such a long and stressful night. “What did you discover?” he asked before the Healer had a chance to speak.

“I Floo-called Healer Quadros and told him about your offer. He said that the most helpful tool for examining both brain injuries and spinal cord problems would be Magnetic Resonance Imaging, known commonly as an MRI. He said that a CT scan could help in getting a clearer picture of the vertebrae, but it’s not as strictly necessary.” He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “He said to tell you that if you decide to make good on your promise, he has three resources that you could contact for help in getting machinery ordered and delivered fairly quickly. There are two of them who’ve had dealings with the wizarding world previously, so there would be no Secrecy Statute issues. The third has not, so that could complicate things. He said that you could expect to pay upwards of 150,000 Galleons for both pieces of equipment.” Here, he paused again and looked directly at Draco. “Are you sure about this? I mean, that’s more than most of our Healers make in six years. In the time it will take to get the equipment here, there’s every hope that she’ll start to improve on her own.”

“But there’s no guarantee, is there?” Draco retorted, shaking his head. “No, I’d rather improve her chances than sit here twiddling my thumbs, only to have to start from zero in two or three days. Give me the contact information, and I’ll make the calls,” he said firmly.

Handing over a slip of parchment on which he’d scribbled the pertinent details, the Healer said, “I really do hope this will be of help to your mother. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again in the next day or so, and please feel free to leave a message for me if there’s anything you need in the interim. I’m Healer Buckle,” he added, almost as an afterthought, extending his hand to first Hermione, then Draco, before leaving the two alone.

Resting a hand on Draco’s arm, she said, “Do you want me to join you, or would you rather be alone?”

“Oh, I definitely want you with me,” he answered, “but it may have slipped your notice that it’s two o’clock in the morning, so I think it’s probably not likely that we’d be able to reach any of these people at this hour. We should both try to get a little rest, particularly if Mother is still under sedation. I’m not going to wake Father for a least a couple more hours, either. He looked… broken, and the rest will do him some good.”

“You’re probably right,” Hermione agreed while trying to stifle a yawn. “I either need some sleep or some Pepper-Up potion, and I’d rather not go the chemical route if I can avoid it.”

“Do you want to go back to the Manor?” Draco suggested. “I can stretch out on the sofa, since there doesn’t seem to be anyone else around.”

She shook her head. “No. I’ll stay here with you. I brought a change of clothes with me for the morning.” She stopped for a moment, thinking. “You know, my office is quite small, but I could probably shrink a couple of the bookcases and chairs, and transfigure the desk into some sort of bed. I don’t how why I didn’t consider it earlier. I guess the stress of the situation has me at less than a hundred percent,” she admitted.

“That’s a great idea. I can hang out here, and you’ll have a bit of privacy,” he acknowledged.

“No. That’s not what I meant,” she corrected.

“Pardon?” he answered, confused.

“We should go to my office together. You’ll never get any rest on that sofa; you’re a good foot and a half taller than that thing is long, and all of the lobby furniture is charmed to prohibit transfiguration, as you well know,” she argued.

“Hmm. That fact did momentarily slip my mind. I guess I am pretty knackered, too,” he admitted. “But, you won’t feel, uh, uncomfortable alone with …”

“Draco Malfoy, I may need to slap some sense into you. Of course I’m not going to feel uncomfortable. We spend lots of time alone. Well, mostly alone,” she amended, thinking of the tiny buffer provided by their daughter. “You’ve never been anything but a perfect gentleman, and we both need some rest. No more arguing; let’s go,” she said firmly, grasping his hand and dragging him up from the sofa to follow her.

Working together, it had only taken them about ten minutes to rearrange and reconfigure the various pieces of furniture in what Draco teasingly referred to as her “postage-stamp-sized” office so that they had the equivalent of a full-sized bed, complete with two pillows that he had fabricated from the cushions on her office chairs.

When the alarm set on Hermione’s wand began to vibrate at quarter ‘til six, she woke to find that Draco had cuddled up behind her as they napped. She honestly didn’t mind all that much, but nature was calling and his arm was firmly wrapped around her waist. As much as she tried to slip out from under his grasp without waking him, it seemed an impossible task. She thought she heard him mumble something as a prelude to awareness, but she couldn’t decipher what he’d said. He murmured once again and kissed the back of her head. Now, she thought, I really do need to escape before he decides to get slightly too friendly.

“Draco,” she whispered, shaking his arm gently. When he didn’t respond, she said his name again, just a bit louder.

He startled awake, eyes bleary and unfocused, and mouth agape in surprise. “What? Oh!” He released her and separated from her to the farthest edge of the makeshift bed. “I’m so, so sorry. I think I must have been dreaming,” he excused, then realized that probably sounded even worse, if she were to think he made a habit of dreaming about her.

She was already rising and moving toward the door when she spoke. “Don’t worry about it, for Merlin’s sake. I just needed to go to the loo and you had a rather firm grip on me.” She turned the knob, then looked over her shoulder at him. “I think we will need to have a conversation soon, but not just yet. Let’s get Narcissa healthy first, yeah?”

He nodded silently as she finally left the room, closing the door behind her, leaving him to ponder exactly what kind of conversation she wanted to have.

XXXXX

The next few days were stressful, incredibly busy, and very emotional for each of the members of the extended Malfoy family. Back at the Manor, Harry and Luna had alternated shifts with Ginny and Neville, and Draco’s Aunt Andromeda to look after Louisa, who was a bit confused and troubled over the absence of her parents and grandparents, but happy to be the center of attention for her favorite “aunts” and “uncles.”

Each of the adults who’d been keeping vigil for Narcissa had returned briefly, to shower, get a change of clothes or a hot meal, and to reassure Louisa that (gods willing) things would return to normal in a few days. The fact that Narcissa had not yet returned was clearly causing consternation for the tot, as she asked each of them, more than once, when Mémère would be home. The vague and hopeful answer of “soon” was as much as they were able to offer.

By ten o’clock on the morning after Narcissa’s accident, Draco and Hermione had made contact with both of the suppliers that Healer Quadros had identified, and had negotiated, cajoled, and pleaded until one of them had made a commitment to deliver the necessary equipment – the MRI and CT scan – to St. Mungo’s by the end of the business day, at the exorbitant price of 167,000 Galleons, 10,000 of which Draco was nearly certain would be going directly into the Sales Agent’s pocket.

Draco’s minor annoyance with the man had faded, however, when he and his installation crew had arrived, as promised, at two that afternoon. Healer Quadros had commandeered a little-used treatment room, adjacent to a large, vacant office. The Magnetic Resonance Imager had been placed in the larger of the two, leaving the CT scan equipment to the smaller. With a Herculean effort, the machinery had been installed and calibrated by six o’clock, and tested by seven.

At quarter after eight, Narcissa’s still form had been moved for evaluation, and Lucius, his son, and Hermione waited anxiously until the tests were complete and the results reviewed. It was nearly ten o’clock, twelve hours after Draco had reached agreement with the supplier, when Healer Quadros had finally approached the family with a summary of his findings.

He’d told them of damage to the brain that was worse than they’d feared, but with the aid of the images produced by the MRI, likely reversible with a rigorous treatment protocol. The damage caused by the cervical fractures was serious, but also would likely respond to treatment, assuming they could correct the brain injuries first. The Healer had warned them that the magical-equivalent “surgery” was at the microscopic level, and would thus be time-consuming, deliberate, and extraordinarily delicate. If anything was shy of perfect, Narcissa’s recovery – and survival – would still be in question.

After an hour’s reflection and discussion with Draco, supported by Hermione’s medical knowledge, Lucius had finally consented to allow the healing procedures to begin. They would take place over the course of forty-eight hours, to allow the Healer to evaluate incremental progress and to rest periodically from what would be grueling mental and physical work, and to allow the patient to experience the stress of the procedures in sufficiently small doses that they did not exacerbate her problems.

And grueling it had been, for Healer Quadros, his two principal assistants, Narcissa and all the people who waited anxiously for news of her condition. Throughout his periodic updates to the family, there had been one moment of grave concern when a new bleeding site had erupted, though the damage had been effectively repaired. Quadros had been cautiously optimistic that he had located and fixed each tear, break, and rupture, and consequently calmed the inflammation and irritation surrounding the delicate nerves in her spinal column. The final stage of her treatment would be another four hours under complete sedation to allow her body to recover from the stresses of prolonged and repeated medi-magical intervention.

She would be slowly roused from her purposeful coma, by five percent of full alertness at a time. The small increments would allow the Healers to examine her autonomic responses and her vital signs for indications of improvement or of on-going problems. This would also allow them to take her back under to full sedation more easily, should it be required in an emergency. That would begin in about an hour from now, and Draco, in particular, was pacing like a caged animal in anticipation.

Hermione’s concern was as much for him and Lucius as it was for Narcissa. The last two days – three, if one counted the time from her accident – had been hard on both of the men, and she’d tried to stay strong for them in the face of her own worries.

She’d never seen Lucius so quiet and introspective, and the lost and haunted look in his eyes told the story of a man who drew his strength and his joie de vivre as much from the woman he loved as from the breath and heartbeat in his own body. She’d only seen him perk up briefly when small comforts, so like the ones his wife would typically tend to, were offered to him. Upon noting that, she had done her best to ensure that she provided that kind of support and reinforcement to him whenever and however she could. The grateful glances and spontaneous hugs told her that she’d done right by him, and that his appreciation for her small kindnesses was boundless. He’d also clearly appreciated the moments when his son took charge of actions and decisions that he could not seem to bring himself to do. He’d looked at Draco with pure pride and adoration, almost as though their positions were reversed and he were the son in their relationship. It had warmed Hermione’s heart to see the unadulterated love between the two men who had given each other so much support not only in this immediate crisis, but throughout the last three and a half years of trials, tribulations, and ultimately, triumphs. She hoped that this would be yet one more opportunity for them to revel in the joy of a hardship vanquished.

As she observed Draco’s reactions, Hermione felt that she was watching him truly step into his own as a man. He’d taken charge when he needed to, yet deferred to others’ greater knowledge and judgment when appropriate. He’d asked thoughtful and insightful questions, but still maintained a vulnerability that spoke to his great love of and fear for his mother, who had sacrificed so much for him – and for their daughter.

He’d done so much in the last three years to build himself back up from the crushed shadow of a person that he’d become, through no real fault of his own. She had to acknowledge that her respect for him and what he had accomplished had grown exponentially, not just for what he’d done while in Salem (which was not insubstantial, by any accounting), but also for how he’d grown in the few short months since his return. It can’t have been easy, she thought, for him to jump feet first into fatherhood, but he had done that admirably and with a greater amount of enthusiasm than she’d dared to hope. There was no doubt in her mind that he loved Louisa deeply and entirely, as the tot clearly reciprocated.

She also had to admit that her own feelings for and about the man had been evolving. When he’d returned, she’d been terrified, not of him, but of the apparent pedestal on which it seemed that he’d placed her. There were brief moments when she thought she’d seen some hint of unrequited longing slip through, but he’d done everything in his power to maintain the distance that she seemed to want, even after the point at which she’d stopped worrying about rigidly enforcing that emotional and physical separation. He’d been totally respectful, deferential, and gentlemanly in their every interaction, even when they’d had minor disagreements. No, she thought, his courtly (if not courting) and proper behavior had actually been… charming.

As they’d developed their partnership as co-parents to Louisa, so had they developed their own relationship, and she found herself confiding in him, relying on his help, and, to her great surprise when she’d finally pegged the feeling, missing him when she hadn’t seen or spoken to him in a while. The way he’d stepped up to take such thorough responsibility for ensuring his mother’s care had further cemented Hermione’s opinion that he was someone to be depended upon when the going got tough.

Both hardest and easiest for her to admit, whether to herself or to her two primary female confidantes, was that she did find the young man quite physically attractive. It was a topic that was ripe for quick and easy teasing, but when she was forced to confront her own thoughts about the issue, layering that physical attraction with her growing respect and admiration could, if she allowed it, add up to something far more than she’d ever allowed herself to consider.

She knew she was right when she’d told him two nights earlier that they would need to have a conversation at some point in the not-too-distant future. She recalled how he had blanched when she’d said that and hoped that he wasn’t worrying over it. The last thing she wanted to do was to add to his burdens. In fact, with the care his mother was likely to need if she did pull through her initial crisis, she wanted nothing more than to provide him support.

Hermione noticed as the minutes ticked by that both men were showing their tension in tightened lips, stiff backs, and narrowed eyes. The Mind Healer part of her wanted nothing more than to order calming draughts and therapeutic massage for both of them. The soft-hearted woman in her wanted nothing more than to embrace both of them. She was somewhat startled by the realization that her heart recognized “Father” in her mental embrace of Lucius, but certainly not “Brother” in the same act toward Draco. There was something within her that seemed to be compelling her to reach out for one of them, and it was all she could do to keep her hands and arms to herself, and seconds later she was berating herself for thinking that she needed to keep apart from either one of the men who were so clearly in need of compassion and care. Thus, she followed instinct in the moment rather than thought, and moved from her chair to take the spot beside Draco on the sofa, which now placed her between the two men. Reaching out, she took Lucius’ hand in one of hers and Draco’s in the other.

“You know,” she said, “that most of us in the wizarding world aren’t religious in the larger world’s definition of the word, but we are deeply spiritual in everything we do. I think I might find it comforting if we were to ask the spirits for a blessing, for Narcissa and for us, so that no matter what we learn, we’ll all have the strength to deal with it.”

Draco squeezed her hand tightly, then changed his grip so that their fingers were intertwined. “I like that idea,” he replied in a rough whisper.

“Would you do it, Draco?” Lucius asked.

He nodded and paused a moment to gather his thoughts. Closing his eyes, he began to speak. “Spirits of the earth, wind, water, and fire, we call on you to hear our plea. We ask for your blessing for our beloved Narcissa, that she may find her way back to us in her full health and strength. We ask your blessings for each of us, so that we will be her strength and support when she is in need of it. And we ask your blessing for our family, so that we comfort and care for each other as we help Narcissa on her journey. We offer our lifelong commitments to each other and to the great spirits in exchange for your gifts. So mote it be.”

“So mote it be,” Lucius and Hermione echoed in unison.

The small group sat quietly, still linked by their tightly clasped hands and each one lost in his or her own thoughts, for ten more minutes before Healer Quadros finally approached. He was smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Magnetic Resonance Imaging equipment is quite costly, usually about $1,000,000 in US money. CT Scan equipment comes in several different models/levels, but the highest quality image-producing machinery runs about $250,000 US. To calculate the Galleon cost, I converted the US cost to British pounds, then to Galleons using the usual five to one ratio.


	26. Zeniths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Hermione both reach momentous milestones.

Draco marked the final day of September on his wall calendar with a big red "X" and sighed with equal parts joy and trepidation. The joy came from recognizing that he was truly entering the home stretch of his exile. With only six months to go, he was also feeling the pressures of the things he wanted to complete in the short time before returning to England.

He was about a third of the way through his penultimate semester at Salem State. Once the four courses in which he was currently enrolled were complete, he'd only have a final four to sit, then he would need to write his senior thesis to earn his degree. He planned to have that finished long before his scheduled departure in early April, and the topic, along with a fairly solid outline, had been percolating in his head for several months. He was optimistic that his academic advisor would accept the idea when he presented it at the end of the term, particularly as it had the advantage of having been tested in reality. He also intended to use it as the blueprint for his business venture once his days in Salem were done. No theoretical mumbo jumbo for him; might as well hit two owls with one Quaffle and start crafting the plan for his not-for-profit foundation while completing his educational requirements.

As the weather cooled and the leaves began to turn, Draco also realized that there were other endings that he was more reluctant to face. The idea of leaving behind the Roys, and his two mentors at the Grapevine, had caused him to feel small pangs of separation that he’d not anticipated even before that was imminent. He supposed that, if the relationships were that important to him, he'd find a way to maintain them.

The simple fact that this was a consideration for him had been cited by Dr. Kate as evidence of his emotional and social growth. He knew, though, that friendships with one family and deep respect and appreciation for the two men who’d guided his fledgling career in the restaurant business (and as a budding philanthropist) were not the same as a fulsome relationship with a member of the opposite sex. This is what prompted an in-depth discussion with his therapist, one that had ultimately led to a breakthrough moment for him and had provided the greatest sense of clarity that he’d felt in as long as he could remember.

“What is the nature of ‘relationship’ in your mind, Draco?” Kate had challenged.

“That’s such a huge concept, Doc, that I’m not sure I can put a simple definition on it,” Draco had pushed back.

“I didn’t ask for a definition. I want you to tell me about the nature of it. What does it look like? Feel like?” she’d pressed.

“Now you’re splitting hairs,” he’d argued, getting annoyed with what felt like a pointless exercise.

“It’s a valid question, Draco. What makes one relationship different from another, or more important to you than another?” She had pushed relentlessly, and Draco couldn’t help but feel that she was deliberately trying to provoke some kind of reaction from him.

He sighed, ran both hands through his hair, and tugged the strands through his fingers. “It’s so difficult for me to describe,” he whined. “It’s as much about what you put into it as you get out of it.”

“So, what makes you want to put more effort or investment into a relationship?”

“You’re talking about relative value, Doc. Why do people love?” he challenged.

“You tell me.”

He knew immediately that he should have seen that one coming. His agitation was building, and he couldn’t sit still, so Draco paced the room, hands clasped behind his back. She was prodding him for some reason, and he didn’t like it. He suppressed the growl that threatened to emerge from his throat. Worst of all, he didn’t know why he was feeling so browbeaten. It wasn’t uncommon for either of his therapists to challenge him during their sessions, but this line of questioning was creating a level of anxiety that made him feel as though his blood was bubbling under his skin.

Kate had sat silent, watching his prowling but refusing to let him off the hook. She and David had come to the conclusion that he’d made enough progress to force him to break through the thickest barrier to his full recovery. If they could get him to see that his emotional maturity had developed to the point that real, honest, and substantive relationships could be established and maintained, then he might have a chance to release the rest of his guilt and build a stable and fulfilling life for himself. Thus, she would not back down in her efforts.

He had glared at her one more time before slumping into the chair, effectively signaling his acquiescence, if not a full surrender.

“Relationships start with respect and regard, I believe. Then deeper knowledge of a person either builds on that or negates it in some way,” he’d said.

“What kind of deeper knowledge?” she’d asked.

“How they think, react to situations, treat people around them,” he listed.

“What would negate or diminish a relationship?”

“Someone being untrustworthy, inconsiderate of others’ feelings, cruelty, even indifference,” he answered.

“What would enhance or build the relationship?”

“Mutual regard, shared interests, respectfulness of each other, ability to disagree on things without being hurtful, and in romantic relationships, some kind of physical attraction,” he’d recounted.

“You’ve used the word ‘regard’ a couple of times. Tell me more about what that means to you,” Kate pressed.

He took a moment to consider her question, then sighed in exasperation. “I guess it’s similar to respect, but in my mind, one can respect from afar. Regard is more intimate, requiring greater knowledge of a person, and a form of acknowledgement of each other.”

Kate’s eyes had brightened, and she pressed him once more. “What’s different about your relationship with Bob than with Marcel?”

Draco recalled having struggled with how to put words to accurately form his answer. The two men played similar roles in his life, but were so very different from each other. The chef was as temperamental as he was tender, while Bob had the most even disposition of almost anyone he’d ever known. He had learned more specific skill from Marcel, but Bob had helped him to see the bigger picture, coaching him gently but firmly on what it meant to be more than a manager of things and people. Bob was the visionary and the leader, while Marcel was the expert who executed every plan to perfection. He valued the lessons both men had shared, but used them at disparate times and occasions.

The men were very different, but his relationship with each of them was remarkably similar. He was the eager and attentive student to their patient, if often demanding, mentor. Both treated him as a protégé, and both relationships were warm and relaxed. The question had also prompted him to reflect as he spoke on how both had grown quite substantially over the two-plus years that he’d worked for the men.

Kate had challenged him to explain why the development in those relationships had meant so much to him.

“It’s because they grew from very superficial to deeply genuine. Trust was earned and given, reciprocally, and we got to know each other’s strengths, weaknesses, concerns, and goals.”

Kate had clearly felt it was time to pounce when she asked her next question. “And what does all of that mean for what you have today and what you could have at some point in the future with the woman who holds your heart?”

Draco remembered having felt like he’d been struck in the stomach by a Beater’s bat. He had spoken slowly, deliberately, as he considered her challenge, testing the concepts aloud without filtering them through his ego. “I hold our relationship so dear because she showed so much of her heart to me, whether she realized it or not, and whether she intended to or not. From the time we were barely in our teens, I could see the qualities that drew me to her in the way she related to her friends, and even with our own limited connections. She was fierce and loyal, and so brilliant. Even when my father berated me for not earning marks higher than hers, I didn’t really care. I was so impressed by her skill and her determination. All of those qualities were the things that drew me to her even though I’d been told time and again that she wasn’t worthy. I knew then that it was a lie. She had already captivated me.”

“That was the start. What was next?” Kate prompted.

“If I could just carve away the years that Bella controlled me, my next interaction with her was in the cabin where my mother sent us. She was doggedly determined throughout, and even though she had every reason to despise me, she wouldn’t give up until she figured out everything that was going on. My respect for her grew even more then. And of course, when that ordeal was over, she gave me the most incredible gift anyone has ever bestowed. She has the biggest, most generous heart of anyone I’ve ever known,” he finished, emotional exhaustion clear on his face.

“What does that mean to the growth of your relationship?” Kate had asked.

“Well, it’s pretty one-sided, isn’t it?” he asserted. “And if it’s one-sided, it isn’t really a relationship. My feelings for her started such a long time ago, but I never told her, or anyone else – at least not intentionally. Other than my apology and expressing my thanks for what she had done, she has no idea of the duration and depth of my feelings.”

Kate had thrown him for a loop with her next query. “How can you possibly separate what she did for you from what you did to her?” The tone had been almost accusatory, and that was entirely unexpected and uncharacteristic.

Draco had tried to form words, but had no idea what they might turn out to be. He swallowed heavily as he considered the ramifications. What if there had been no opportunity for her to offer the gift of forgiveness? Would he have felt the same intense connection to her as he did today? It was nearly impossible to reach a conclusion on that premise.

“I will not deal in hypotheticals,” he finally answered, fierce anger in his tone. “I do not love her because of her forgiveness. I love her because she is the one person who would have it in her heart and soul to give that kind of mercy. It may not seem like a very big distinction, but it is everything to me.”

“You’ve told me that you intend to see her when you go back. What do you want from that… encounter?” she had asked him then.

That had been another brutally difficult question to entertain. He had tried to separate what his heart wanted from what his reasonable expectations might allow. “My intention is to give her my thanks one more time. If she seems amenable, I would be reasonably content with a friendship, but I will not apply any pressure for anything beyond a nodding acquaintance. I will follow her lead, unless something drastic changes our dynamics. My heart wants more, but my mind understands that the possibilities for that are not among the likely outcomes.”

“And if she is open to more, to some kind of legitimate affiliation?”

“I will rejoice in every moment I am allowed to spend in her company, and I will respect whatever boundaries she decides to set. At some point, I will be pragmatic, and if I must, I will try to let my heart forget her.”

“You would relegate yourself to a life of unreturned love?”

“If that’s what it took to secure her happiness, then, yes. I would. If loneliness became too overwhelming, I might consider finding companionship elsewhere, but it would not be the same. Of that, I’m certain.”

“What does that tell you about the nature of relationships?” she echoed her original question.

“They are fluid and changing. They are ripe with possibilities and fraught with pitfalls. They cannot be one-sided, but must have give and take from both sides. How I feel about someone is mine to own, and that feeling may have no impact at all on how they regard me, but when a relationship is shared, whatever its exact nature, it can shift and grow from both sides.”

“That, my dear Mr. Malfoy, may be one of the most mature and profound observations I’ve heard you make. What is your learning from this?”

“I must – and will be – true to my own feelings. I will be honest with my heart and trust that I will recognize when to cling to things that work and when to release fantasies that can’t. I hope that what I’ve learned about myself will afford me the strength and wisdom to know the difference.”

XXXXX

That session had led Draco to several days of introspection and soul-searching. The discussion had caused him to think about each of the relationships in his life and what they meant to him. He’d spent time considering which held life-long value, which were likely to play temporary, albeit pivotal, roles, and which would, someday, be relegated to fond memories.

He’d gained a deeper understanding of why he felt so deeply for Hermione, yet recognized that he could not truly define their association as a relationship. His regard for her was probably higher than any other single individual in his life, with the possible exception of his mother. The only characteristic in which the younger witch necessarily surpassed the elder was physical attraction. There was no oedipal complex among his many issues.

Some of the feelings which had haunted him, particularly as he explored his sexual health, had been the thought that his fantasies of Hermione had represented some kind of betrayal of her trust. It didn’t take him very long to conclude that, if there were no jointly-understood relationship, there could be no betrayal. No promises had been made and no offense had been committed in that scenario. What Dr. Kate had been trying to get him to recognize and comprehend for such a very long time had crystallized over the course of a few days. That single session when she had challenged him so profoundly had produced remarkable results.

He could accept and acknowledge his feelings, and stop berating himself. It was time to let go of that particular peccadillo, he resolved with surety. If he had the opportunity to build any kind of affiliation with her, whether it be a simple acquaintance or something more, he would also recognize that his own physical needs were unrelated to his respect for her. Only in the event that they, someday, developed a physical relationship together would he revisit how his private time played out. The likelihood of that, he knew, was infinitesimal.

XXXXX

The wizarding world was, arguably, a century behind the Muggle world in its approaches to early childhood education, if not in its results, then certainly in its methods, with governesses and tutors being the most common approach to teaching primary education. Hermione, having been afforded the best available by her upper middle-class parents, knew the value of exposing her daughter to learning strategies from infancy. The complication of living and working in a society so vastly different from the one in which she’d been raised made some of the basics a little more challenging to manage, but the young woman was nothing if not supremely determined.

She ensured that Louisa’s earliest toys allowed for the conscious building of fine and large motor functions, eye-hand coordination, building early language skills, and developing cognitive processing abilities. While many parents helped to encourage these skills in their babies through instinct, Hermione could never leave such an important thing to chance. She was diligent and deliberate in her approach, further ensuring that Narcissa was aware of the methods and modalities that would allow Louisa to thrive from an early age.

While very supportive and compliant with Hermione’s wishes in this regard, Narcissa was also from the old school of early wizarding education, and ensured that the lessons Hermione had planned were supplemented with exposure to the traditional magical elements of earth, air, water, and fire, as well as replicas of magical creatures, such as unicorns, Pygmy puffs, and hippogriffs. These were in the form of pictures and toys, for the most part, but the family property did have its share of living examples in the stables, forests, and meadows that covered many dozens of acres.

The result of all of this focus on learning from before she could even crawl was that Louisa’s abilities developed at a pace that outstripped most other children in wizarding society. By the age of eighteen months, she was well on her way to recognizing and reciting the letters of the alphabet, counting, understanding very simple mathematics concepts such as addition and subtraction, naming colors and shapes accurately, and in oral language development.

Her grandparents were understandably proud of her native intelligence, citing the level of academic achievement that had been reached by both of her parents. Had their formal education not been interrupted by the war that had closed Hogwarts for nearly four years, both senior Malfoys had no doubt that Hermione and Draco would have had the honor of serving as Head Girl and Boy in their final year. Narcissa only allowed that lost opportunity to sadden her for a few moments, the realist in her recognizing that there was nothing to be gained by wallowing over might-have-beens. She did take a second to contemplate, however, what kind of relationship her son and Hermione could have built had they been allowed to work so closely together for a full school year, assuming, of course, that her sister’s insidious interference had never happened. While she refused to mourn the sister she had come to despise for her heinous actions, she did greatly regret what possibilities had been taken from her son and from the young woman whom she now considered a daughter.

So, while they relished Louisa’s undeniable academic potential, they were also intensely interested in her magical potential. Most children with magical blood exhibited their first hints of accidental magic discharge between two and three years old. Their natural magical energy, when it was not deliberately expended in the form of a cast spell, had to find an outlet from the body in some manner, not unlike static electricity. That often manifested in bursts of raw power, not dissimilar to a small firecracker-like explosion, being emitted when the child was particularly angry, frustrated, or delighted. Rarely, it manifested as a bit of unintentional transfiguration, or the summoning or repelling of an object, though these occurrences were more likely as children aged a bit and had greater cognitive ability to align with their growing magical core.

It was a surprise to all of them, then, when Louisa exhibited her first burst of (astoundingly powerful) accidental magic at just nineteen months old. The child had been angry over not being allowed to play with a fragile crystal figurine. While there were charms available to limit breakage or other damage, the broader principle of not touching things that were not one’s own was the lesson that Hermione had been reinforcing. Regardless of the lesson she was intended to learn, Louisa didn’t like it one darned bit, and she let it be known by directing her anger, and all its associated magical power, toward Narcissa’s prized Ming Dynasty vase.

They’d all been present in the room when it happened, and while Hermione was as horrified as she was mortified, Lucius and Narcissa were as thrilled and impressed as they were chagrined over the damage to an utterly priceless artifact. The likelihood that magic could repair the piece was fairly high, but Lucius was tempted to leave it as is, keeping the pieces as souvenirs and evidence of his granddaughter’s apparent nascent prowess. Narcissa had disabused him of the idea, telling him that he could take a photograph to remember the moment in addition to the memories they’d add to their collection. It was, after all, her favorite vase and she wanted it intact. That had been the end of the discussion.

Similar events had occurred with increasing regularity over the next few weeks, and since Louisa was far too young to be taught to wield a wand, or to even channel her emotions, they jointly made the difficult decision to place a gentle binding on her magic until she could be educated on the proper controls.

Hermione had discovered, though, that the type and nature of the binding would require either periodic lifting to “bleed off” the energy that had accumulated, or a gradual increase in the strength of the binding. Neither were optimal, but it was slightly less troublesome to allow Louisa to release the energy every three or four months than to continually clamp down on her energy core, the danger being that the ever-increasing binding could be tricky to fully release when the child reached sufficient maturity. She would, however, need to be very cautious in controlling both the circumstances and the environment on each occasion.

The whole idea had made her very wary and uncomfortable until Narcissa had taken her aside and told her that the practice was actually quite common, and that they’d had to do the same with Draco when he’d been a toddler, although he had been a bit older than Louisa, at the age of twenty-two months when it had been first necessary. The young mother felt quite a lot better when she’d heard that nearly half of magical children who’d undergone the procedure to restrict their wayward energies had been weaned off the binding by the age of five, or slightly younger if they displayed sufficient emotional development to understand how to channel their more volatile impulses.

Weeks passed with milestones large and small for Louisa, and Hermione, like her counterpart on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean with his own goals, was nearing the end of her formal training in the Core Healer program. Now and then, she wondered how her daughter’s father was fairing, never more so than when Louisa achieved a new skill that she guiltily acknowledged he could not witness. As the date of his expected return came closer, she alternately questioned the wisdom of her uncompromising decision and weighed the possibilities for how she could break the news to him when the time came.

Her conversation with Ginny Weasley over lunch one sunny Saturday was indicative of her internal struggle.

“I thought about writing him a letter before he is to leave Salem, but I see problems with that, too,” she told her friend, sharing yet another option in the long list they’d been discussing for the last ninety minutes. “If I were to send it too early, it could create anxiety for him to leave before he’s allowed. If I sent it too close to his departure, I’d just be adding drama to what may be already difficult. And, to be honest, I can’t imagine that he’d be happy to learn such big news in writing rather than face-to-face, not to mention that I have no earthly idea how I’d write such a thing, anyway, and…”

Ginny interrupted her friend with a raised hand and a short, sharp whistle. “Slow down and take a breath, will you?”

Hermione looked chastened as she fiddled with the stem of her wine glass. “I’m sorry, Gin. I’m just so confused and stressed over how to break this to him. I’ve run through two dozen different possibilities in my head, and there are problems with every single option. I have no idea how he’s going to react, but I’m sure he’ll be angry that this has been kept from him. Why was I such an idiot?” she asked, only somewhat rhetorically.

“You’re probably right in assuming he’ll be ticked off, but from everything that I’ve heard Narcissa and Lucius say about how well he’s been doing, I can’t imagine that he’d take his anger out on Louisa. Isn’t that what’s most important about this, anyway? That he and she get to build some kind of connection?” Ginny challenged.

“Of course it is,” Hermione answered just a bit snappishly. “I can handle him being furious with me. It would just break my heart, though, if he rejected her.”

Ginny shrugged and paused to sip her wine. “I suppose it is a possibility, but my gut instinct tells me that won’t be the case. I think he’s probably grown up an awful lot, being out there all on his own for so long.” She paused once more and met Hermione’s eyes intensely. “You know that I was not exactly in favor of keeping this from him, right from the start. But now, it’s been so long that I’m not sure it does make sense to tell him before he comes back. What would it really accomplish?”

Hermione sighed deeply. “I honestly can’t answer that. Maybe it would give him time to adjust to the idea before he actually meets her.”

“And maybe it would cause him to stew in his fury for months until he can meet her,” Ginny countered, then shook her head. “Look, I can’t get inside his head any more than I can get inside yours. If you could go back in time, that would be one thing, but even if you had a Time Turner, you couldn’t go back far enough for it to make a difference. I can’t and won’t tell you what’s right for you, and ultimately for Louisa and for Draco. I’m just saying that, if it were me, I’d just keep my mouth shut for now and work on how to tell him when he’s back.”

“If I do that, I think that Louisa and I need to move out of the Manor,” Hermione concluded.

“Why in Merlin’s name would you need to do that?” Ginny asked incredulously.

“The Manor is his home. He needs to be able to readjust to his life without having such an enormous distraction so close,” she asserted. “Besides, I’m almost done with my training and I’ll be starting in my residency soon. I have more than enough money saved so that I can afford a nice place for the two of us, and St. Mungo’s has a very good staff daycare program. We’ll be fine.”

Ginny snorted. “I don’t want to be around when you tell Narcissa about this idea. She’ll blow her top,” the younger witch predicted.

“You may be right, but it’s also not practical to think that we’ll be able to occupy the same house as Draco. I just can’t see it working.”

“Well, my friend, you’ve got your work cut out for you for the next four or five months. Can’t say that I envy you, but I will be there to help. I may not always agree with your choices, but you are the closest thing to a sister that I’ll ever have, and I love you dearly. You can count on me,” she promised, leaning over to give the anxious woman a comforting hug. “Now, let’s put our heads together and see if we can come up with a viable solution to this debacle.”

XXXXX

“He’s made some astounding progress in the last few weeks,” David Roy commented as he and his wife reviewed Draco Malfoy’s patient file. “Did you figure out exactly what it was that created the breakthrough? There’s nothing that he and I discussed that’s likely to have been the catalyst.”

“I’m certain it was that conversation we had about the nature of relationships. As I’m sure you recall, we had one hell of a go-round over that, and things seemed to shift pretty quickly afterward. He’s been more relaxed, more focused, and, dare I say it, happier since then,” she confirmed.

“Any specific reports that I need to be aware of?” David asked.

Kate nodded. “One pretty big development. He told me that he’s decided he doesn’t need to feel guilty about his fantasies because he and she have no tangible shared relationship. He said, and I quote, ‘My needs are my own, and nothing I do to help myself in my healing is causing her any harm.’ I’d say that’s just about everything we’ve been hoping for in his recovery, at least on the psycho-sexual side. I’m actually thinking about releasing him from my care.”

“What’s stopped you from doing that, then?” David wondered.

Kate chewed her lower lip as she debated her answer. “With as much progress as he’s made, there’s one more level that I’d like to see him reach. He’s recognized the fundamental realities of the situation with Ms. Granger, and I know that whatever happens when he goes back, he’ll always have strong feelings for her. I think, though, that he’s also realized that he may need to make the decision to move on with his life if they can’t find a way to connect. As much as he hopes for that, I think his brain has started to come to terms with the improbability of it.”

“All very healthy,” David observed. “So what do you have in mind as a next step?”

“You know how difficult it’s been for him to build any connections of even the most superficial sort with young women,” she began.

“Oh yeah. I remember that disaster from New Year’s Eve,” David recalled.

“I think it may be time to encourage at least some healthy fantasy that doesn’t feature Ms. Granger. I believe that if he can clear that hurdle, there’s nothing more that he will need from sessions with me,” she concluded.

“Hmm. You’re probably right about that,” he agreed. “From my perspective, he’s still dealing with some of the broader guilt issues, but I think that the progress he’s made is pretty close to as far as he’s likely to go. I’m going to hold off on releasing him, though, until you’re done with your project. Once you get him over that hurdle, I’m going to leave the final decision up to him. Until he has constant support from his family, he may want to continue with the therapy sessions as a bit of a pressure valve.”

Kate nodded in agreement as she sipped her tea. “That’s a good strategy. He’s remarkably more stable and centered than he was even six months ago, but I think he appreciates the structure of therapy as much as the content. My only concern about releasing him is that he’ll feel that it ends the larger relationship with us and the boys. I’m not eager to leave him isolated,” she admitted.

“That’s true, but we can make it clear that the end of his formal therapy does not end the friendship, particularly with the boys. They’d be just as upset as he would, I’d wager. Even though they know his time here is coming to an end, I don’t want to create more drama over separation than there needs to be.”

“Good. That sounds like a viable approach,” Kate said with a sigh of relief. “I’m seeing him tomorrow at four, and I think I’ll probably go ahead with the new assignment then, depending on his latest report. I’m not going to tell him about the release plan until he has success, though.”

“Perfect. He’s with me on Friday. Let me know if there are any developments from your session,” he requested, closing his folder. “Let’s go home. I’m hungry!”

XXXX

When Draco entered Kate Roy’s office, the devious twist of her lips told him that this would not be a typical session. In fact, her expression was so unusual that he stopped in his tracks and uttered, “Uh oh,” using every ounce of his courage to stand firm rather than turn tail and run.

She was evil enough to chuckle at his obvious discomfort. “Will you relax? There will be no biting or anything,” she promised.

“Yeah, right,” he scoffed, smiling back at her wryly. “So exactly what do you have in store for me that has you so maniacally gleeful?”

“We’ll get to that in a few minutes,” she deflected. “First, though, we need to talk about your homework for the past week.”

Draco actually smirked at her, giving Kate a clue as to his level of success. Her waving hand indicated that he should elaborate.

“I’ve been doing much better,” he told her. “It’s different from back when I first started doing the fantasy exercises. Every time I did them, I’d get the usual rush from my orgasm, but then I’d feel horrible afterward. The good feeling would last for a few minutes, but I’d feel like crap for a couple of hours. It’s not that way anymore. Since we had that, uh, debate about relationships, I’ve been able to put things in better perspective.”

“So, tell me what happens now,” she requested. “And what are you using as a source for your fantasies?”

“Well, the source is still the same. Whether it’s deliberate or spontaneous, Hermione is there in my head,” he admitted with a bit of a shrug. “She’s who I’m attracted to, and regardless of the lack of an actual relationship with her, that’s not likely to change anytime soon.

“As far as the difference in my experience, it’s really just in my response, uh, after the fact.”

“You’re never going to be completely comfortable talking about sex, are you?” Kate challenged.

Draco shook his head, but not in direct answer to her question. “It’s not so much that as it is that you know exactly what we’re talking about, and I don’t feel the need to be terribly detailed or graphic about it.” He stopped and cleared his throat. “I actually think that I’d probably be fairly… verbal with someone with whom I was intimate.”

“And what causes you to think that?” she prompted.

“Just the way my fantasies tend to play out. They’re more intense when there’s an element of imagined conversation involved,” he explained.

She raised a hand to stop him. “I get the picture. You like to talk dirty.”

Draco spluttered in embarrassment while Kate chuckled.

“It’s perfectly normal, Draco. Most people enjoy a bit of that now and again. It can really spice things up, and there’s a very healthy component to that, particularly if you use it to ask for what you want or need from a partner,” she reminded him, certain that they’d discussed this at some point in his sexual re-education.

“Yes, well, if or when that time comes, I’ll be well-equipped,” Draco retorted, finally giving in to his urge to smile.

“So, back to the original question,” she refocused. “What’s different about your response?”

“I just allow the experience to happen, and I don’t dwell on thinking about it. I feel what I feel, and I usually fall asleep pretty relaxed and content. The anxiety used to actually keep me awake, and I’d stew in it for hours. Now, it feels like my orgasm is just a great physical release, and a momentary connection to someone I care for deeply. I allow myself to imagine that she’s with me, and I don’t feel so lonely.”

“Does that mean you feel lonely when you haven’t taken the time for a pleasant fantasy?” she asked, picking up on his cue.

Draco shook his head in the negative. “Not really, no. I just think that the fantasy allows me the brief connection to her that’s so comforting to me.”

“And that’s working for now, while you don’t have a clear picture of what will happen when you return to England in a few months. Let’s think about reality for a moment. Say you go back, and she won’t even see you at all. What happens then?”

“If that happens, then I will need to accept the reality of it and make the decision to move one. I have no doubt, however, that she will always own a fairly large part of my heart. Her happiness is more important to me than getting what I want.

“That doesn’t mean that I intend to give up without trying. I will try to see her, but I won’t become some kind of stalker. If she is willing to build a friendship, I will work to earn her trust and potentially more. I will be realistic, but I can’t yet abandon all hope.”

“And that leads me to the reason and content for your next homework assignment,” Kate inserted.

“Oh, I was afraid of that,” Draco replied. “To what fresh hell will you subject me now?”

“I hardly think you’ll find it hellish, but it is a shift, to be sure,” she said.

“So, what is it?” Draco asked resignedly.

“I want you to take your fantasy process in a slightly different direction, and I’m going to give you some tools to help you.”

“I’m listening,” he acknowledged.

“I would like you to try to use a difference source for your fantasies, and to allow it to progress through to orgasm without reinserting Ms. Granger into the picture. This,” she handed him a folio that resembled a magazine, but bound in a stiff cover, “is a collection of tasteful erotica, both images and prose. Use it, if you like, if you need some inspiration.”

Draco was only slightly hesitant as he reached to accept the packet she offered, but he did take it, nodding his polite thanks. “I’ll do my best.”

XXXX

After Draco left, Kate called her husband, feeling triumphant. “I think we’ve got another breakthrough in the making. He didn’t argue, or try to wiggle out of it. He actually took the folio, too.”

“Well, that is good news,” David agreed. “I can’t wait to hear that he’s been successful. You may be right; he may be ready to fly solo, in more ways than one.”

XXXX

Draco didn’t have the time that night to explore the collection that Kate had given him. A study group session had run late and an early wake-up call for work at the foundation meant that sleep was the only thing on the agenda when he crawled into bed at just after midnight.

The good news about early days was that they generally ended at a reasonable hour, at least on the rare occasions when Draco could exercise a bit of control over his own activities. Draco had to admit to himself that Kate’s assignment had aroused his curiosity, if not specifically his libido, and he was eager to spend the evening exploring the material she’d given him. He was just as curious about what his own response would be. While he had been quite adamant in refusing to play around with any one of the several young women who’d expressed interest, he hadn’t even considered the possibility of exploring the world of “erotic inspiration.”

After completing an essay assignment for his Organizational Development class and eating a bowl of seafood chowder which Chef Marcel had insisted he take home, Draco gave up any thought of pretense and stretched out on his bed with the folio. Kate had said that the packet contained both images and stories, and while the idea of the written fantasies was tantalizing, he, like most men, was primarily visual. He would stick to the images for now, and possibly revisit the other materials some other time.

He opened the cover to see that the images and stories were interspersed, and while he had, for some reason, expected them to be of the Muggle variety, he saw immediately that they were the wizarding sort, complete with movement.

As he slowly flipped through the pages, he understood why Dr. Kate had called the collection “erotica” rather than something more prurient. While there was plenty of nudity, and even images of couples in various embraces and clinches, none of it appeared to be coarse or what most would consider obscene. He also noticed that his therapist had probably customized the materials, at least to some degree; there wasn’t a single image of a woman who could have resembled Hermione. Although he’d never shared a photograph of her with either therapist, there had been a couple of occasions when he had described her appearance, and at least once that he had shared a brief and hazy memory in the good doctors’ Pensieve. He mentally congratulated the woman on her thoroughness and attention to detail in her therapeutic endeavor.

He was surprised to discover that he was experiencing a genuine physical reaction to the images. It had been years since that had happened, and he wondered if this might truly be a turning point in his sexual rehabilitation. A few moments later, the pulse in his groin became persistent enough that he needed to reach inside his pajamas to relieve the pressure with a tug or two.

As he turned a page, he was met by an image of a nude couple, the male having an uncanny resemblance to himself. The blond on the page was standing behind a woman whose features seemed indistinct, and he was trailing nibbling kisses along the back of her neck and down to her shoulders while one hand tickled along her ribcage and farther to her hips. The man’s other hand seemed to be occupied with the task of teasing himself to readiness, and Draco allowed his eyes to drift shut while his imagination placed him in the spot which had been occupied by his doppelganger in the photograph.

His grip tightened and his stroke quickened, but only enough so that the movement was intentional, not intermittent. He wasn’t yet lost in feeling, retaining awareness of the goal that had been assigned to him. Although the amorphous female images had been more arousing than he’d expected them to be, his deeper soul still wanted to connect with the woman who occupied his heart. As he began to lose himself in physical sensation, further increasing the speed of his fist along his shaft and the tug on his sac, the final image to fill his brain as his orgasm roared through him was the same as it had been for countless months.

When he finally came back to awareness, Draco concluded that, while he had not been completely successful in achieving Dr. Kate’s goal for him, nor had the exercise been a total failure. For the first time in as long as he could recall, he had actually become aroused by a stimulus other than Hermione. That was definite progress, and he felt… relieved, he thought was the best description, that he might be capable of physicality and sexuality, almost like any other bloke. There were five more days until his next appointment with his sex therapist; he would try again.

Ultimately, it had taken three more attempts over the successive four nights, but when he met with Dr. Kate on the next day, he would be able to report that he had, at least once, managed to come with nothing or no one on his brain other than the wonderful feeling of sweet release.

XXXXX

Hermione waited for two rings until Ginny answered her cell phone.

“Have I told you that I love this gadget, and that caller ID is the best thing since self-cleaning cauldrons?” the youngest Weasley said in greeting.

“At least ten times. And I certainly agree,” Hermione replied. “Do you have a minute? I want to fill you in on a decision I’ve made.”

“For you, love, I’ve got all the time in the world. What’s this momentous conclusion you’ve reached?” Ginny asked.

“Well, as a preface, Narcissa told me this morning that she had a Floo-call with Draco, and he asked her if she knew how to contact me. Apparently, he wants to meet with me when he comes back in a few months, to express his thanks for my help, or some such thing,” Hermione began.

“Well, that’s interesting,” Ginny drawled.

“Yeah, I thought so, too. But, I also see it as an opportunity,” she added.

“To build a tiny bit of rapport and soften him up for the big hammer blow?” Ginny prompted.

“Well, sort of. I thought we could meet, have a ‘cleansing’ conversation about what happened, and I could explain that there were unanticipated consequences. I would try to make it very clear that I wasn’t angry or upset about it, and then tell him about Louisa,” she concluded. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know,” Ginny hesitated. “It seems kind of… abrupt.”

Hermione sighed into the phone in annoyance. “I don’t expect that it will be a five-minute conversation. I’m guessing that it will take us some real time to work through whatever we each have to say to the other. And I’ll be very gentle about the way I tell him.”

“Well, it’s the best plan you’ve concocted so far,” Ginny finally offered. “What about meeting her?”

“I’d leave the timing on that up to him. That’s one of the reasons that I’d like to be moved out of the Manor by them. If he doesn’t want to see her, I don’t want to force the issue.”

“And if he does?” Ginny pressed.

“I will certainly accommodate that. That’s really the whole point, isn’t it?” she retorted.

“What about other possibilities? What if he wants to take her from you?” Ginny said, expressing aloud the worst of Hermione’s irrational fears, and playing the role of devil’s advocate, as she so often did.

“Lucius and Narcissa have promised me that they would not allow that to happen, and I do trust them, but it doesn’t mean there wouldn’t be a bit of a battle along the way,” she acknowledged. “I honestly don’t think he’d try to do that, though, based on what we’ve learned from his parents about his recovery. As you well know, he’s been doing some really good things in Salem.”

“If that’s the case, then the two of you may be able to find a way to work together. For all of your sakes, I certainly hope so.”

“Yeah, me too,” Hermione agreed. “If we can build a cordial relationship, this situation would be slightly less… complex.”


	27. Drama

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Hermione have a little chat, then Draco and Lucius have a little chat, then Draco and Hermione have another little chat. And oh, what they chat about!!

“That’s it, Mother. Four more steps and we’re done for the morning,” Draco encouraged, standing behind the woman as a failsafe in the event that her still-precarious balance deserted her.

“Well, it is getting easier,” she replied, “but I feel like I still have so much of my strength to regain.” The pace and cadence of her speech was still not as crisp or melodious as it had once been, but Draco recognized that it, too, had noticeably improved.

The door to the “therapy room” they’d created from a rarely-used parlor opened and Hermione entered, smiling broadly. “Are you finished already, Narcissa?” she asked.

“Just now,” the elder woman replied, smiling warmly at her son.

“That’s wonderful! You’re making really good progress,” she observed.

“Thanks to Draco’s unrelenting, slave-driving, yet totally selfless help,” she complimented, if somewhat backhandedly.

“Hey! I’m very gentle with you,” he protested.

Patting his cheek, Narcissa agreed. “Of course you are, my love. Just teasing you.”

“May I?” Hermione asked, approaching Narcissa, seeking to examine her flexibility and range of motion. As she tested each limb, she noted with satisfaction that there had been marginal improvement. There was still a way to go, but her condition was a far cry from the day she’d been roused from her magically-induced coma…

Four Weeks Earlier

Healer Quadros had provided them with an enormous clue to the results of Narcissa’s surgical procedures when he’d approached them wearing a broad grin on his face. It seemed that, at least for the moment, their prayers had been answered.

Draco had been first to confront the situation. “I assume by your expression that my mother is awake. What do we need to know and do now?”

“You are correct. She’s awake, although I do recommend that, once you’ve had an opportunity to see her, we induce sleep for the next twelve hours, at a minimum. There is ample evidence that sleep is a wonderful natural healer, once specific repairs are made to the body,” the Healer suggested. “After that, we will continue to test her autonomic responses and create an on-going treatment and therapy plan based on her condition.

“What motor issues have you seen at this stage?” Hermione asked, knowing that neither of the Malfoy men would have asked the question in the way the Healer would be most likely to answer.

“We’ve done the standard response testing, and found autonomic reflex sensitivity, pin-prick reaction, equal and responsive pupils. Circulation and respiration are functioning in the normal range with the appropriate medi-magical support. We’ve not yet been able to test verbal ability, although we feel that there is likely some deficit, based on the areas of the brain that experienced damage. It’s too early to tell whether there is any negative affect to her cognitive abilities,” he explained.

Hermione breathed deeply. “Okay. Some reason to be optimistic, then, but we’re not quite out of the woods,” she said, directing her comments to Lucius and Draco.

“May we see her?" Lucius pleaded, cutting off any other comments, obviously impatient to see for himself that his wife’s condition had improved as much as the Healer seemed to indicate.

The Healer nodded and smiled kindly. “Of course you may. I do want to caution you that she may not respond to your presence as she’s still quite groggy. Follow me, if you would.”

As the two Malfoy men followed the Healer, Hermione hung back, thinking that she’d allow them some privacy for their initial reunion. In a quick moment, Draco noticed her absence and turned back to coax her to join him. He extended his hand, a fearful expression crossing his features. “Please,” he whispered, “I need your strength.”

She couldn’t refuse him, seeing the anguish written so plainly in his eyes, and took his hand in hers, falling into step beside him.

When they entered Narcissa’s room, each one of the small group had steeled him or herself for what they would find. It was not quite what any of them expected. Someone had taken care to ensure that any obvious, outward sign of injury had been magically corrected. Although she was terribly pale, there were no bruises, no incisions, and no scars to mar Narcissa’s face or body. She had been clothed in a simple white cotton nightdress, and her hair had been cleaned and arranged into a long braid that rested over her right shoulder. While a magical display of her vital signs blinked and beeped quietly at the head of her bed, there were no other blatant indications that the woman who rested here had been through such a traumatic injury and extensive surgery. As the Healer had predicted, though, her eyes were closed and she did not react to the sound of their entry.

Draco and Hermione waited quietly while Lucius approached the bed, dropped to one knee, and took his wife’s hand. He lifted it to his lips and held it there for a long moment. Draco could see his father’s lips moving, but could not hear what he’d said, if in fact any words had been uttered aloud. He could see tears glistening in the elder man’s eyes, but they did not fall. After another moment or two, Lucius leaned forward to kiss Narcissa’s cheek, squeezing her hand tightly, then stepping away to allow his son and Hermione to take his place.

As Draco moved to approach the bed, he felt Hermione hold back again. Although he wondered whether she thought he wanted a private moment with his mother, he felt the need for her support and connection more acutely. He tugged on the hand he had refused to relinquish to draw her beside him at Narcissa’s side. With his free hand, Draco brushed an errant wisp of hair from the resting woman’s forehead. His voice was rough and strained as he said, “Mother, we’re here. We’re going to take wonderful care of you, and you’ll be as good as new before you know it.” He fell silent then, knowing that he would not be able to find his voice for more.

Still clutching her left hand in his right, he felt Hermione step closer, placing her right hand on his bicep and squeezing lightly, her message of unspoken encouragement understood and deeply appreciated. He thought he had some idea of how Hermione felt about his mother, but he was touched beyond words when she added her sentiments to his, through her own barely contained tears. “You’ve been our strength, Mother, but now you must let us be yours. It won’t be easy, but we will help you every step of the way.” Hearing those words and that promise from her was nearly his undoing, and he swallowed heavily before turning to take her fully into his arms, whispering his thanks for all she had done. He could have lingered in that moment for an hour, or a decade, but he saw his father approach the out of the corner of his vision.

“Come, children,” he said quietly, placing a hand on their shoulders. “She needs her rest, and so do you. I know that she heard us, and she’ll sleep well now.”

The trio had returned to the Manor for rest, a meal, and showers. Draco had then taken a brief trip to the townhouse to retrieve some extra clothing, and had taken up temporary residence in his old bedroom suite, making it clear that the next several weeks would require all hands on deck to ensure that his mother’s recovery, recuperation, and rehabilitation were paramount.

Narcissa spent six more days at St. Mungo’s before being released to replicate the intense rehab mission that had begun at the hospital. Hermione had been adamant that she was more than capable of managing the woman’s care in her comfortable home, assuming a few relatively simple modifications and additions, and the temporary services of licensed physical, occupational, and speech therapists. Draco had been intensely focused and eager to help, and had spent hours learning the necessary exercises, lessons, and stretches that Narcissa would need to continue when the therapists were released from full-time duty in three weeks’ time. His work would be supervised by Hermione and supplemented by weekly visits from the same therapists until such time as they felt that Narcissa had either progressed as far as she was able, or returned to full nominal function.

From the day she’d become fully aware, Narcissa had shown great determination and dedication to regaining the motor skills and speech facility that had been damaged due to her terrible injuries. The Healer had told them how incredibly lucky she had been to have retained her cognitive abilities, but the muscles and nerves in her extremities had suffered significant damage. Her speech was also slow and slurred, although it was fully clear that she understood exactly what had happened and what needed to be done. She had been able to communicate her thoughts and wishes as long as she took her time. Although she was mentally sharp, she needed to relearn the motor skills that Louisa had just finished mastering. This was the therapy to which Draco had dedicated his time every single day.

His diligent effort on his mother’s behalf meant that the stay that he’d thought might last a couple of weeks had now extended to nearly a month. While he focused on duties at home, he had not completely ignored the mission on which he’d embarked upon his return to England. Since his mother did not need him every hour of every day, especially as her strength had begun to return, he’d finalized the purchase of the building he would turn into the London branch of the Feeding Families Foundation, and he’d begun to interview contractors, decorators, and designers to help convert and update the building to match his vision. In two or three weeks, he hoped to start the search for candidates for key positions, including Head Chef, Front End Manager, Financial Director, and Community Outreach Coordinator. There was a lot to do, and he was staying very busy juggling it all.

Another result of his extended stay at the Manor was that he was spending significant amounts of time with his daughter and her mother, with whom he was working closely to ensure that his mother’s progress was consistent and measurable. He was undeniably happy about how much closer they had become as they spent so much time under the same roof.

There had been another unexpected development that Draco and Hermione hadn’t anticipated, but when both recognized it, they each had to admit they were at a loss for how to deal with the situation. Louisa seemed to have concluded, regardless of their firm and constant denials, that Draco had come to live with them permanently, and she’d become disconsolate on the two or three occasions that he’d gone back to the townhouse for an overnight stay. The issue was becoming more urgent as the end of Narcissa’s need for daily therapy assistance was approaching. By the end of the month, Healer Quadros projected that she would have made sufficient recovery that her exercises could be handled independently. The matter was further complicated by the fact that Hermione’s two weeks of vacation leave would be ending in just a couple of days, removing her presence as a buffer.

When Draco made another overnight disappearance, necessitated by an early-morning meeting with a contractor performing renovations on the restaurant, Louisa had cried for hours over her missing Papa. When he’d received Hermione’s text message about their daughter’s latest meltdown, he had promised to return to the Manor as soon as he was able, but the damage seemed to have been contained, if only momentarily, by allowing the toddler to play in the pool while her grandmother swam laps to aid in building her endurance.

He sent a text in reply, saying, “We need to talk abt this.” Her response – “And more” – had been slightly cryptic, and made him a bit fretful. When he returned, he found all three ladies in the pool, his mother just finishing her laps, and Hermione and Louisa splashing around to stay cool in the hot, mid-August sun. His father was nowhere to be seen, but he recalled that he’d mentioned meetings in Diagon Alley for the day.

Draco squatted at the side of the pool, waiting with a large fluffy towel as Hermione lifted Louisa up to him. Drying her off efficiently, he sat with her on the patio for a few minutes while Hermione assisted Narcissa in climbing the ladder onto the pebbled surface that surrounded the pool. Noting the time, he suggested that Louisa was probably in need of a nap, and volunteered to get her settled. “When I’m done,” he added, “we should find a quiet spot for a chat.” He was pleased to see that Hermione smiled happily in response.

“Yes, we should,” she agreed. “Maybe we could take the Floo over to the townhouse for some privacy,” she suggested.

His mother interjected, “That’s a lovely idea. We’ll be fine here, and Lucius should be home within the half hour, so go on and do whatever you need.”

“You’re sure?” Draco inquired uncertainly. While he was eager to have a private chat, he didn’t want to leave his mother without support.

“Positive. I’ve got seven house-elves here, besides. I’m just going to read in the sun room,” she reassured them.

Hermione caught his attention and mouthed, “She wants some independence.”

He nodded his understanding and indicated that he would be back in a few moments, once Louisa was tucked in for her nap.

“I’ll just get changed and meet you by the main Floo, then,” Hermione said.

Fifteen minutes later, Draco and Hermione were standing in the foyer, ready to make the brief Floo trip to London. When he had initiated the request for a conversation, Draco was undeniably anxious. Something in the pit of his stomach told him that this would be a pivotal moment, and Hermione’s comment (nearly five weeks earlier) about the need for a talk had been echoing in his brain.

“After you,” he said, handing her a fistful of Floo powder to activate the travel system.

Again, she smiled at him as she accepted his offering, and she tossed the sandy granules into the hearth, clearly enunciating the destination, “Private Floo, Malfoy townhouse, London.”

Draco followed a moment later to find that she was already activating cooling charms in the slightly too-warm house.

“I’ve got some lemonade in the kitchen,” he offered. “Or would you prefer something stronger?”

“Lemonade is perfect,” she accepted. “Where would you like to sit?”

Feeling the need to be in a place of refuge, Draco suggested, “How about the sitting room upstairs in the suite?”

He was relieved and grateful when she immediately agreed.

“That’s perfect. Exactly what I was going to suggest.”

“After you, then,” he replied with a nervous grin.

As they climbed the stairs, Draco carrying the tray of refreshments, Hermione observed, “It feels like I haven’t been here for so long. I actually miss it.”

“I know what you mean. As much as I want to be at the Manor to support Mum, this was really starting to feel like… home, I guess,” he admitted.

He set the tray down on the end table and poured tall glasses of lemonade over ice for each of them, offering hers along with a napkin and taking a seat beside her on the sofa.

“I think we have a…”

“There’s a lot we need to…”

They both blushed and laughed uneasily over their simultaneous attempt to begin the conversation.

“Ladies first,” he encouraged, finally, desperately curious to hear what she had to say, but equally concerned that it would be something that could crush him.

He watched her shoulders rise and fall with the deep breath that she took before speaking. “I know that we need to talk about Louisa’s reactions to your, uh, location changes, but there are some broader topics that I think we need to discuss which may have bearing on how that issue is resolved. You remember the night that Narcissa was injured, and I said that we needed to talk?” she reminded him.

“Of course I do,” he replied. “I think I’ve been feeling that need for a while, too,” he admitted quietly.

She turned slightly to face him, tucking her leg under her to shift her position. “Can we make a promise to each other before we dive into this, Draco?”

He swallowed heavily, filled with trepidation over something that sounded so momentous. “Whatever you need,” he allowed.

“I want us to be completely honest. No holding back, and no keeping secrets. I think we’ve been dancing around some things for far too long, and it’s not serving either of us well,” she asserted.

“I would like that. Please be a bit patient with me, though. There are some things that may be… difficult for me to say, or for you to hear,” he cautioned her.

She shifted slightly to touch the hand that he had draped along the back of the sofa. “With everything that the two of us have been through together, I’m not worried about that. We’ll deal with whatever we need to, yeah?”

“Yeah, we will,” he agreed with a soft smile. “So, where would you like to begin?” His attention was only marginally diverted by the fact that she had not removed her hand from his, and had actually tightened her grip.

It also seemed that she noticed that he had noticed. Darting her eyes toward their joined hands, she took the opportunity to point out that action.

“Have you noticed that we’ve been doing a lot of that lately?” she asked. “Because I have, and it seems to me that we are seeking each other out, physically, nearly every time we’re together.”

“And how do you feel about that?” he asked, in an echo of a question he’d been asked hundreds of times by his therapists.

“Oh, no, Draco,” she warned with a sly smile. “You will not use my own tricks against me!”

“No trick,” he said, placing his free hand over his heart. “Wizard’s oath and honor. I have noticed, and it’s a development that I think you know I enjoy. I’m less sure of your feelings about it.”

“You know, I never considered how complicated it might be to have a heart-to-heart between a trained Mind Healer and a person with extensive therapy experience. This should be as interesting as it is humiliating,” she predicted with a grin.

He made the leap of faith that her response would be amenable and shifted their grip so that their fingers were interlaced. “So, what are your feelings about that?”

“The fact that I’ve not hexed your fingers off, nor have I rejected your contact, along with having initiated it in many cases should tell you that I enjoy it, too,” she admitted. “I think, though, that we need to talk about why and how this development has come about.”

Draco wanted to follow her lead, so he nodded to encourage her to continue.

Hermione seemed to be struggling with how to frame what she wanted to tell him, so he squeezed her hand again. “It’s okay, Hermione, whatever it is. Just tell me.”

He saw her take another of those shuddering, deep breaths. “When you first came back from Salem, I was determined that we’d have a cordial but distant relationship. I didn’t deserve the pedestal you’d built for me, and I thought that we really didn’t know each other at all. It would be so much simpler, I thought, if we’d just stay… detached,” she said.

“It didn’t take very long, though, for you to show me the man you’d become, and the ridiculously big heart that you’d had hiding under all the tragedy to which you’d been subjected.

“I started to notice how easily and completely you began to love Louisa, even though I’d been so cruel in keeping her from you. Regardless of the fact that I thought my intentions were to spare you more stress, I truly do understand how wrong I was. The fact that you forgave me for that still astounds me. Your relationship with your parents also showed two very different elements of who you’ve become. It’s so evident that you love and respect them, but you’ve also shown your strength of character in standing up to them when you’ve needed to, being your own man.

“Then, there’s what you’re doing with the foundation. There’s no doubt in my mind that you’re doing that for all the right reasons. I can easily see your commitment, care, and passion for it, and I have no doubt that you will help hundreds of people with your generosity of spirit.

“I also recognize how important family is to you, and the strength, grace, and maturity you’ve shown throughout this terrible accident has increased my respect for you by orders of magnitude. You’ve been an absolutely perfect son, and you’ve become an incredible father to our little girl.”

As she listed the traits and characteristics that indicated her growing esteem for him, Draco felt his heart swell with joy. He felt a great deal of pride that she seemed to think he had become a worthy human being. What was less clear was where all this was heading. Since she seemed to have more to say, he resolved to demonstrate the same patience that he’d requested from her, and he maintained his stance of passive acceptance. When she mentioned Louisa, though, he felt he needed to speak.

“You know that I love her with my entire heart and soul, Hermione. I would do anything for her, including forfeiting my own life,” he professed.

She smiled at him with immense warmth. “I know you would, and she completely adores you, too. You are truly a natural, and it’s amazed me how easily you seemed to take to fatherhood.”

He shrugged at her compliment. “It’s not difficult when you leave your heart open to love.”

“Yeah,” she agreed through a shaky breath. “And that brings me to one more thing.” She seemed to be wavering between whether she wanted to look him in the eye or avoid that at all costs. “I’ve found that, over the last couple of months, my own feelings for you have been…shifting. As I’ve come to know you better, and we’ve spent so much more time together, my respect and admiration have become something more. I find that when you’re not around, I miss you, and I look forward to our time together more than I’d ever thought I could. I like when you hug me, or take my hand. I find that I’m, uh, attracted to you in a way I never expected.”

Draco was utterly stunned by her revelation, and he was certain that his jaw had dropped to his chest. He had no idea how he should respond to this. He knew how he wanted to respond, but he also didn’t want to scare her off with unwelcome liberties. He also recognized that, if he didn’t respond, she might take it as a rejection, and he certainly didn’t want to get that ridiculous idea in her over-imaginative head. He took their joined hands and brought them toward his lips, placing a kiss against her fingers.

With a shuddering sigh, Draco finally uttered, “Wow. You’ve definitely caught me by surprise. I’d hoped that’s what our new closeness might mean, but I didn’t dare think it. I can’t imagine that you don’t have some inkling of my feelings for you, but I’ve wanted to be respectful of the space that you needed, especially when I first returned.”

“And it meant a lot to me that you kept your distance while we took the time to get to know each other. If you had pressed for more, it would have chased me away entirely,” she claimed.

“Then I’m glad I didn’t do that,” Draco affirmed. “I know you’ve asked me to be completely honest with you, and I am so grateful for your straightforwardness. There are so many things that I want to say to you, but I don’t want to… overwhelm you,” he worried aloud.

“Being honest doesn’t have to mean sharing every last detail, Draco. I just want to understand your truth,” she said.

“Okay. You may find some of this hard to believe, but every word is genuine. You see, my truth is that you’ve held my heart for a very, very long time. You know, of course, that I went through three years of intensive psychotherapy while I was away, and I learned a lot about why you were so special to me. From the time we were first-years, you fascinated me. You defied everything I had ever been told about Muggle-born magical people. You were more powerful, more clever, and more resourceful than any pureblood I knew, and you made me question the beliefs that had been drummed into my head all my life. I was horrible to you because I didn’t know how to manage my confusion over the disconnect between the evidence in front of me and the lies I’d heard a thousand times. It’s no excuse, but it’s all I knew. By the beginning of fifth year, I really started to notice you as a beautiful girl on top of all the other things I liked about you, but my aunt got her clutches into me, and I’m afraid that the very fact that I was so attracted to you then was what she used as a reason to target you for such horrible abuse as I delivered.”

Hermione interrupted him, saying, “I am well aware of the horrible things she did, and I will never hold you responsible for them, Draco, regardless of the motivation that may have been involved.”

“I’ve been through enough therapy and introspection at this point to know where the blame belongs, and I don’t feel the same kind of guilt for that as I once did. I just want you to understand the fact that my feelings for you were not a new or recent development. They’ve been part of me for years, as I feel certain they will be for years to come.

“Since then, it hasn’t been just your intellect, your ability, or your physical attractiveness that drew me to you. I learned about your generous heart, your kindness, your ability to forgive, and your capacity to love and care, not just in your interactions with your friends, but first-hand, in the way you treated me, and even my parents. There is nothing about you that I don’t adore,” he confessed, laying his heart as bare as she’d asked of him.

Hermione’s eyes were bright with tears as he finished. “You still place me well above where you should,” she whispered hoarsely.

“No,” he stated adamantly, shaking his head. “This is how my heart truly sees you, and there is ample evidence to support each and every point.” He leaned forward and brushed away a teardrop that had drifted along her cheek. “You may accuse me of placing you on a pedestal, but I will counter with the observation that you always fail to give yourself enough credit for the wonderful and accomplished woman you are.”

She shifted slightly closer to him then, and spoke softly. “What do we do from here, Draco? There is a huge part of me that wants to explore what we could be to each other – whether the three of us have a chance to become the family that we sometimes seem to be – but I also have to confess that it scares me, too.”

“What are you afraid of, Hermione?” he asked, his quiet tone a match for her own.

“We don’t just have ourselves to think of, Draco. What if we make a mess of things somewhere down the road? I couldn’t bear to see Louisa hurt in the fallout.”

“You know that I love her completely, and if we were to fail in a relationship, it would not have any impact on my relationship with her. To the day I die, she will be in the center of my heart. I will never abandon her,” he vowed passionately. “But you should also consider two things. First, if I make a commitment to you, there is nothing that could make me break it. You would have to throw me away; I will never abandon you. Second, think about what happens if we do succeed. Louisa will have an even more stable family, and maybe even a brother or sister to love. That’s what I want with you.”

She blushed to her hairline, apparently thinking of that possibility, and he wondered for a moment if he had gone too far in his declaration as the look in her eyes also seemed to reflect something that felt, to him, like trepidation.

“We can take things slowly. Spend more time alone together. Go out for dinner now and then,” he suggested, backpedaling a few degrees on his eagerness.

“I think I’d like that,” she agreed. “We still have to figure out how to manage Louisa’s separation anxiety when you come back here to the townhouse on a more permanent basis, though. That’s one of the key things that prompted me to have this conversation with you now,” Hermione reminded him.

“I honestly have no idea what to do about that,” Draco responded. “It breaks my heart to see her upset but if this were another kind of situation, I think the solutions would also be different. What do divorced couples do, for example?” he asked.

“That’s just the thing. We’re heading toward being closer, so when it appears that you pull away, even briefly, it confuses her. She’s too young to understand the distinctions.”

“And while I have enjoyed staying at the Manor while helping out with Mum’s therapy, now that she’s improving, I need to really get back to work on the foundation. Not to mention, if we’re going to consider, uh, seeing each other in that way, I’d think we’d appreciate bit more privacy than we could have living under the same roof with my parents.”

“There is one solution that came to mind, but it raises additional issues,” Hermione hinted.

Draco shrugged. “We’re both pretty resourceful and creative. I’m sure we could find answers. What did you have in mind?”

Hermione took a deep breath. “Louisa and I could move in here.”

Draco’s eyes widened in surprise. She had floored him with that one. “I would have no objection to that,” he finally replied.

“There would be practical concerns, though, and they aren’t minor,” she continued. “For example, the biggest issue is daycare for Louisa while we’re working.”

“I can easily set up an office here,” Draco was quick to respond.

“But as the foundation gets further along in operation, you will need to be on-site more often. I know you can hold meetings here, but she’s still young enough that she needs more direct supervision and interaction than we could reasonably expect you to provide,” Hermione observed logically.

“You’re right. I couldn’t always give her the attention she needs,” Draco conceded. “And I’d be concerned about bringing Mother here to look after her. She’s still got a way to go in her recovery, and I don’t want to burden her with anything beyond fully regaining her health.”

“Exactly,” Hermione agreed. “It’s not been a problem while we’ve all been at the Manor because there’s always one of us, including Lucius, available to see to Louisa for a period of time, but that won’t be the case here. And I am not eager to trust Louisa’s primary care to house-elves, no matter how experienced they may be. They aren’t capable of directing the learning tasks that Louisa craves. She’s such a curious and cognitively advanced child, that she needs constant intellectual stimulation.”

“How about hiring a full-time governess?” Draco offered. “We could convert the guest room to allow a live-in.”

“Not really thrilled about that, only because most governesses within the wizarding world – and you know we’d have to go that route – are still using outdated education strategies. Louisa would be bored and unchallenged with that,” Hermione countered.

“Does St. Mungo’s have facilities available for staff child care?” Draco proposed.

“They do, actually. In fact, I had considered placing her there before you returned,” she admitted.

“Why did you change your mind?” he asked.

“Well, I had thought about moving out of the Manor, as you may recall from our first meeting. It would have made day care necessary,” she reminded him. “Since I stayed…”

“Of course. I’d forgotten the dynamics of that,” he said. “It seems so long ago, now. If it would have been your best option then, why would it not be now?”

“It’s not a bad choice, by any means. And the advantage now would be that she’s old enough for some socialization opportunities with other children,” she noted.

“I still hear a hesitation,” Draco prompted.

“The only thing I really don’t like is that they don’t segregate the children by age to the degree that I think is appropriate. They use four-year age ranges, and it really should be about half of that for the best learning experiences. They have plenty of staff, and I’m reasonably content with the program details,” she allowed.

“So, maybe you could speak with the program director and request some adjustments. With everything that our family has contributed to the hospital over the years, we’ve earned the right to at least ask a few questions or offer a suggestion or two,” he proposed.

“That may be true, but I’m not technically a member of the family,” she stated.

“Not technically, but our daughter is, and we are both now legally recognized as her parents. That’s enough leverage for what you’d be asking,” he postulated.

“You’re probably right, but I’ve never been fond of using that kind of pressure or influence to get what I want,” Hermione demurred.

“Hermione, if you did that on a constant basis, I’d be inclined to agree. But you’ve earned influence in your own right, too. Power is worthless if you don’t use it, and when you wield it to do good things, it’s leadership. Wouldn’t all the children in the program benefit from those kinds of changes?” he challenged.

As she nodded in response, he smiled triumphantly. “See, I told you we could figure something out!”

“Before we make any firm decisions about anyone moving, I’ll make some inquiries to see if it’s feasible,” Hermione relented.

“And if you can work it out?” he prompted.

“Then I think we should seriously consider moving here. It would allow us some privacy to explore the possibilities, along with continuing to build the bond between you and Louisa,” she said. “Again, though, my one concern is if we were to have a falling out.”

“I will do my best to make sure that doesn’t happen, but if it does, we revert to our original plan. I’ll buy a home of my own, and you and Louisa would stay here,” he confirmed. He watched as something else flitted across her features. “You have another concern?” he prodded.

“Just one,” she admitted. “And it’s a bit of a delicate topic, considering our history.”

That was enough of a clue for Draco to understand the nature of the issue. “Ah. Yes,” he answered, clearing his throat. “The physical aspects of a relationship.”

“Yeah, that,” she agreed with a wry grin. “Look, Draco, we’re both adults, and we’re both well aware that everyone has physical needs. If we aren’t able to discuss this like the mature people we claim to be, then we have no business attempting to get involved with each other.”

“You’re absolutely right,” he affirmed. “As you well know from your medical training, sexuality is a critically important part of a healthy relationship. That’s my biggest concern about how we would potentially relate to each other,” he confessed. “If we’re to have any chance at all, we need to really be honest with each other on this.”

“I completely agree with you on every point, and I want to begin by saying that what happened three years ago does not define you any more than it does me. Neither of us are children, and we need to work through this potential obstacle together.”

“If we’re going to do that, I think you need to have a clearer picture of my history. Without that context, it’s not fair to ask you to trust yourself to me,” he stated. “And I have to warn you, Hermione, a lot of it is rather ugly.”

“Draco, first of all, I was at your trial, and I know what you were coerced to do. As far as I’m concerned, that’s ancient history and not relevant to who you are,” Hermione interrupted. “You told me that you were seeing a sexual therapist and that you had worked through the issues, so if you’re not comfortable sharing the nature of those problems, I don’t see it as a major obstacle between us.”

“But I do,” he protested. “There’s no more intimate trust than sexual trust, and if we can’t find that with each other, then we shouldn’t pretend that there’s a possibility for us to create something lasting. And if we’re to make the attempt, that’s what I’m hoping for from this. I’m not interested in a fling; I’m in it for the long haul.”

“Fair enough,” she agreed. “I’m prepared to be fully honest with you; I just didn’t want you to feel pressured to relive those horrors again, especially when I’m not ignorant about them.”

He noticed that the two of them had been inching closer throughout their intense conversation, and he welcomed the pressure of her bent knee resting against his thigh. The scent of her jasmine and vanilla perfume filled his nostrils and he fought for control to ensure that he wouldn’t reach out to fully envelop her in his arms. In the weeks since his embarrassing moment at the conclusion of his birthday celebration, he’d become careful to not allow his libido to run away with him when she was near, but her proximity and the subject matter of their budding relationship had ensured that he was on the edge of full arousal for the better part of an hour. He hoped she wouldn’t notice, and he begged for strength to keep his composure. He couldn’t stop himself, though, from trailing the back of his index finger against the silk of her cheek. Her shy smile in response reassured him that the contact was not unwelcome.

Draco shook his head slowly. “I’m not eager to relive any of that, either, and I agree that it’s not really necessary to rehash it for us to move forward, but the aftermath of it is pertinent, and without that understanding, I think we’d both find obstacles arising when we least need them. So, I’m going to trust my deepest secrets to you in the hope that it will help us lay a foundation for the rest of our relationship,” he offered, effectively laying his heart at her feet.

Taking a cleansing breath, Draco began, “After we were rescued from the cabin, and I became fully aware of what I’d done, not just to you but to hundreds of others, I was consumed with crippling guilt. Before I began therapy, it was so bad that I considered suicide more than once. I remembered the promise that you’d asked me to make when I went out into the snowstorm with that same intention, though, and that, along with the great sacrifices that my parents made to rescue me from Bella’s influence, was enough to prevent me from taking action. They had obviously seen my anguish and worked with my attorney to petition the Wizengamot for permission to pay for psychotherapy or Mind Healing treatments. If that had not been allowed, I’m truly not sure that I’d be sitting here today.”

Hermione swallowed thickly and squeezed his hand a little tighter. “I’m so sorry you went through that, Draco. It’s just heartbreaking to think of you in so much pain.”

He huffed a short breath. “Trust me, it wasn’t anything I’d care to repeat, but it did give me a real and substantive learning opportunity. Once I started therapy, my Healer diagnosed a couple of major issues, the misplaced guilt being the most prevalent, but another problem stemmed from that, and that’s how I was ultimately referred for sex therapy. Because the vast majority of my sexual experience had been while I was under the influence of the spells and potions, I hadn’t developed a healthy sense of myself as a sexual being. I’d only had a small handful of voluntary interactions prior to falling under Bella’s spells, and my knowledge of healthy human sexuality was severely limited. I felt such guilt over that – a reflection of my bigger issues – that I couldn’t touch myself at all, even in non-sexual ways. My therapist helped me to see that I was unreasonably punishing myself for what Bella had done. It was fine to understand that on an intellectual level, but to let it go was another matter entirely. It took me months to get to the point where I could even massage away a knotted muscle in one of my limbs. It took more than a year before I was able to masturbate to orgasm without weeping afterward,” he confessed, feeling only a tiny bit of embarrassment over sharing the intimate detail.

“I can’t even imagine,” Hermione whispered in reply, deep concern etched in her furrowed brow.

“You don’t want to,” he noted. “For months, I’d wake up every single morning hard as a rock – completely normal for a bloke my age, yeah – and just try to ignore it. Sometimes the pain was nearly unbearable. The only time I’d get any relief was if I had an erotic dream that resulted in orgasm before I woke up. You know more than I do about physiology, so I don’t have to tell you what I was suffering.”

She nodded in empathetic understanding. “Sleeplessness, depression, groin and testicular pain, irritability, even circulatory issues,” she recounted.

“All of it,” he confirmed. “With layer upon layer of guilt on top. It took months more work to accept that I was as much a victim of sexual manipulation as anyone I assaulted. I hadn’t done any of that willingly, or even consciously, and yet I was still shouldering all of the fault for it. My body was used against my will, and I was still paying the price for it.”

“They were treating you as a sexual abuse victim, then,” Hermione surmised. “Makes total sense. I’d have recommended the same thing. How did they help you over the hump?”

“Touch exercises, fantasy play, and therapeutic discussion,” he listed.

Hermione frowned. “A lot of that’s usually done with a partner, though. That would have been a challenging treatment puzzle.”

“Typically, yes. I wasn’t in a position to do that, so they modified the process to accommodate me, solo,” he told her.

“So you’re telling me that you haven’t…”

“No. I haven’t been with anyone since our rescue in Whitefield,” he confessed quietly.

“That’s an awfully long time for a bloke to be… alone,” she observed.

Draco snorted a laugh. “That’s what Dr. Kate kept telling me. She frequently encouraged me to find a willing partner for a little, uh, play, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do that.”

“More guilt issues?” she assumed.

“Uh, not really, not in the final year, anyway. It was more that my heart already seemed to belong elsewhere, and had done for some time, and it felt like I wasn’t being true to myself,” he admitted, looking directly into her eyes.

By the way those amber-colored circles widened, he felt sure that she had caught his inference. She merely uttered a barely audible, “Oh,” though he interpreted it as realization, not rejection. “So…” she prompted, encouraging him to continue.

“Yeah, well, eventually, I was able to work through it in stages. My first breakthrough was being able to get through a fantasy with successful completion, but I’d still feel guilty about having done it. Finally, about six months before I came home, Dr. Kate and I had a killer session where we focused on the nature of relationships, and it was a real breakthrough for me. It only took a week after that to get where I needed to be.”

“And since then?” she wondered.

He smiled slyly. “I’m good. No problems and completely normal function.”

“But you still haven’t…” Hermione began, stopping as realization struck her. “You’ve been waiting.”

He nodded. “I’ve been waiting. And I’ll wait as long as I need to, until, for one reason or the other, you tell me that I should stop waiting.”

“What do you want from me, Draco?” she asked quietly.

“Absolutely nothing that you’re not totally willing to give. I’d be lying if I said I’d never imagined making love to you a hundred different ways, but I don’t tell you that as a means of pressuring you. I share that to let you know that I’m so completely attracted to you. If we do any of this, I promise it will be done entirely on your terms.”

“What if I’m not looking for that much control in a relationship, Draco? If we’re to do this, I’d like it to be more… I don’t know, natural and organic. Let things develop as they will. I understand where you’re coming from, honestly. But if we start down this road, I don’t want you to feel like you have to ask my permission every time you want to take my hand or kiss me, or whatever. If I weren’t attracted to you, too, I would never had said a thing,” she stated. “And let’s not forget that my own sexual experience is not vast. The last couple of years have been very busy, and the first year, I was pregnant. There aren’t many guys who want to date someone who’s carrying a baby in her belly, not that I had the time or inclination to do that, anyway. After that, I was focused on taking care of Louisa and keeping up with my studies. Other than an occasional evening with a vibrator, I’ve had a rather dry spell myself,” she admitted with just a bit of pink in her cheeks.

“I don’t have a problem with any of what you’ve said. Any sexual relationship should be a partnership, and we should both expect honesty. I’d want to know if you thought I was moving too far past your comfort zones. I want you to know that I don’t just want to ‘date’ you; I want us to consider making a life together, Hermione,” he said earnestly.

“That may be the loveliest thing anyone has ever said to me,” she replied. To his great surprise, she leaned forward and placed a gentle yet purposeful kiss on his lips. It took him a moment to react, but his response was the perfect blend of passion, respect, and tenderness. They drew apart slowly, resting their foreheads together and basking in the glow of new possibilities.

XXXXX

In Lucius Malfoy’s study, a flash of golden light nearly blinded the Lord of the Manor as he sat behind his desk reading financial reports. He smiled broadly and a deep chuckle rumbled in his chest. Opening a locked drawer, he inspected two pieces of parchment. The first confirmed his conclusion, while the second told him the exact location of his wife, the delicate platinum bracelet he’d imbued with a tracking charm affixed firmly to her wrist since her return from St. Mungo’s.

He moved quickly through the halls, with considerably less dignity and decorum than was his usual habit, to tell his wife the unexpected and entirely welcome development. Although she had been napping, his exuberant greeting roused her quickly. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you, darling, but I felt certain you’d want to hear the news. Our girl has triggered the final condition. Success is within our reach,” he informed her happily.

Narcissa’s eyes filled with tears. “This is the best thing I’ve heard in years. You do realize, though, that you must tell him everything now,” she cautioned.

Her husband nodded in acknowledgement. “And I’m sure he’ll be furious over the perceived manipulation, as, I suppose, he has a right to be, considering some of his history,” he conceded. “I hope he’ll find a way to forgive us when our foresight gets both of them what they clearly want from each other.”

It was the next morning when Lucius finally summoned his son to his study with the intent of confessing what he and his wife had done in his absence. The elder wizard belatedly felt a pang or two of conscience when he saw the pure joy on his son’s face, obviously a result of whatever had happened between him and the love of his life on the previous evening. While there would almost certainly be short-term recriminations and ramifications over his actions, he hoped that forgiveness would follow when the couple in question finally gave in to the inevitable.

“Coffee? Tea?” Lucius offered from the pots on the credenza as Draco made himself comfortable in the plush leather armchair set beside his father’s massive cherry wood desk.

“Nothing, Father. I’ve already had breakfast,” he responded with a relaxed grin. “Your note said you wanted to discuss something of some importance.”

“I do. I’d like to talk about your relationship with Hermione,” he said, leaving an opening that he hoped Draco would fill with news of whatever had occurred between them to prompt the final sealing of the Declaration of Consent to Binding Wizarding Marriage.

Draco, however, sat impassively, simply nodding in acknowledgment of his father’s comment. “As much as I love you, Father, I’m not inclined to discuss my private business in that regard, especially in light of your on-going refusal to share with me whatever scheme you and Mother concocted to manipulate the two of us.”

Lucius was not accustomed to being rebuffed so blatantly, but he recognized that he should have expected it. Draco had been increasingly circumspect about the topic, particularly over the last ten or twelve weeks. He smiled tightly and said, “You misunderstand, son. The terms and conditions of a binding declaration have all been satisfied, and it’s time that I tell you exactly what that means.”

Draco paled and his eyes went wide. It was clear to Lucius that his son was valiantly attempting to contain a massive explosion of anger. Through tightly clenched teeth, he said, “Explain yourself.”

More than an hour later, Draco was no less angry at his parents’ interference, but had a better understanding of what they’d done and why they’d done it. While there had been – and would be, thanks to his bold ultimatum – no real coercion, there had certainly been manipulation, and they’d been set on a path that could only have two ends, one was considerably more desirable than the other. One path was simple, straightforward and, if all went well, could give him everything he’d ever wanted. The other path’s end was not even close, but he supposed that something might be salvaged from it, as long as Hermione didn’t decide to castrate or kill him first.

The single most important thing to do now was to ensure that he and Hermione were completely unified in their response to the situation, and that meant that she had to know every last detail, along with the options that were available to them. Considering the extensive discussion they’d had about trust not even twenty-four hours earlier, now was certainly not the time to be keeping anything from her, and especially not something so pivotal to their mutual or singular future. Having taken his leave of his father with a final withering glare, Draco retreated to his bedroom to send a text message to Hermione, who had left for her first day back at work at St. Mungo’s two hours earlier.

He typed, “Every1 fine, but urgent topic 2 discuss. Call or txt when u can,” and tapped the “send” icon. Less than five minutes later, he received a reply: “Busy til lunch. Meet me in hosp lobby.” He acknowledged and accepted with a quick, “C U then.”

His fury and restlessness would not allow him to sit still, and he knew it would not be productive to have any additional discussion with his father. Among the promises (bound by wizard’s oath) that he’d managed to extract was that there would be no updates, discussions, or conversations with, to, or for his mother on the topic. Lucius was allowed only to tell her that Draco had been informed, and that their son would personally be dealing with anything and everything that came next. Having reached a consensus that Narcissa’s health was still too fragile to handle the stress of the repercussions that would undoubtedly arise, the two men agreed to cut her out of the conversation for the foreseeable future. And, while he would have liked to spend a little more time with Louisa that morning, Draco knew that his agitation would create tension that his little one didn’t need. He decided to return to the townhouse to pace and stew in his own frustration until he could bring Hermione up to date. He hoped that, together, they’d figure out what they wanted to do and how it would be accomplished. He also hoped that she wouldn’t retreat from him as soon as she understood the depths of the machinations they had both suffered.

At just before noon, Draco activated the Floo in the main foyer and travelled to St. Mungo’s lobby. He only waited a few moments before Hermione joined him, a look of concern clear on her face. After exchanging a brief greeting, complete with kisses to cheeks, she prompted him, “You said it was urgent. Is it also private?”

He nodded sharply. “And then some. Is there somewhere we can go nearby, or do you have time to go back to the townhouse for a bit?”

“I’ve got ninety minutes until my next patient appointment. Will that be enough?” she asked.

“It’ll certainly get us started. I have a feeling that this may take several discussions to fully handle, but we need to act quickly,” he told her. He was not thrilled to see high anxiety in her eyes, but he feared that would only grow when he shared the details of his parents’ subterfuge with her.

She nodded in resignation. “Okay. Let’s get to the townhouse and talk this through, whatever it is.”

Moments later, the two of them were in the foyer, and Draco moved to wrap her in a hug. “I’m getting one in now, because I may not ever get another after you hear this,” he explained.

“You’re scaring me, Draco,” she replied. “Please, just tell me what’s going on.”

Taking her hand and pulling her along with him toward the suite, he said, “We’re going to want to get comfortable for a bit. It’s not a terribly long story, but what we decide to do about it is another thing altogether.”

When they’d settled onto the sofa, in nearly the same positions they’d occupied during their heart-to-heart chat on the previous evening, Draco’s worry was clear. He took a deep breath and began his tale.

“You know that when I first came back from Salem, I told you that I thought my parents were up to something, and that it involved how the two of us were legally linked,” he reminded her.

“Of course. And I know that you made several attempts, even through the family solicitors, to discover what it was with no success. You’ve done a good job of keeping me up to date when you asked those questions,” she acknowledged.

“This morning, my father finally confessed all of the details, and I’m afraid you’re not going to be happy about it,” he warned.

She reached out to take his hand in a gesture of reassurance. “Whatever it is, I’m sure we’ll manage through it.”

“Maybe. Let me preface this by saying that the end result they seek is not what’s made me so livid; it’s that they’ve manipulated us and the situation to get what they want without considering our opinions or feelings in the discussion. I’ve had more than enough of that in my life.”

“No argument there. So, take a deep breath and give me the details,” she prompted, trying to maintain a calm and composed demeanor.

“Sometime before Louisa was born, they had the solicitor draw up a very old and little-used decree, ostensibly on my behalf. It’s called a ‘Declaration of Consent to Binding Wizarding Marriage, Entered in Absentia.’”

Hermione’s eyes went wide at his words and she interrupted, “Wait. Does that mean that we are married? I thought you’d asked and been told that wasn’t the case.”

“And from what I understand, that’s still true. We aren’t married, yet, anyway. This document could set us on that path, though, and you need to understand how and why. It’s a little complicated, but I think I understand the details well enough. I’m sure we’ll need to do a bit more research, and I’ve given my father an ultimatum to produce a full, un-redacted, and unaltered copy by tomorrow morning, or I’ll remove all three of us from the Manor permanently, forbidding them to contact us.”

She raised an eyebrow in response. “Don’t you think you should have consulted me first?”

He waved a hand. “I would never do that without your consent, obviously, but he doesn’t know that, and he won’t take the chance. He knows we’ve become quite a lot closer lately, but I’ve been very unforthcoming with any details, so he has no clue what we’d do to manage our mutual interests.”

“Oh, so just a bit of Slytherin hardball, then. Okay, what else?” she prodded.

“The reason for a consent document is apparently because you have no living family members who can grant approval for a marriage contract, so any consent to wed must come directly from you,” he explained.

She nodded. “That’s at least logical.”

“The fact that you were pregnant with my child was also a major element in this. Old marriages were often arranged when an heir or heiress was in utero, to save any embarrassment over illegitimate births, or as in this case, to ensure a claim to the bloodline if the father was indisposed in some way.”

“Right, as in your exile. We knew about that part,” she confirmed.

“Well, they only told us the bare minimum about what that really meant,” he added. “So, because I wasn’t here, and they needed your consent without actually telling you that you were giving it, they set up three conditions that had to be met that would constitute your acceptance of the contract. They had to be active rather than passive events, and they had to occur within a particular timeline. My father told me this morning that all of those conditions had been met, and that we now have six months to either seal the contract with a fully binding marriage, or break it.”

Hermione shook her head as if to clear her confusion. “So, what is it that I’m supposed to have done that represented a consent to marry?”

Draco was grateful that she didn’t sound terribly furious, just desperately confused. “The foundational piece was Louisa’s successful live birth. That’s what set everything else in motion. The first condition was to identify either of my parents as ‘Mother’ or ‘Father’ to a third party, meaning an acceptance of their roles in your life as an in-law. That apparently happened over a year ago.”

She breathed out an “ohhh” and met his eyes. “I know exactly when that was. I told Ginny that I’d begun to think of your mother as mine, too, and that I’d come to love her as much as my own mum. I was so thankful for how supportive she’d been throughout my pregnancy and Louisa’s first months.”

“Yes,” Draco confirmed. “That’s what the parchment showed, and you apparently reinforced that when you called Narcissa ‘Mother’ when she was in the hospital after her riding accident.”

“Wait a minute. What parchment?” she asked, perplexed.

“Oh yeah, forgot that part. My father had a charmed copy of the decree document in his office that recorded each condition being met, including date, time, and circumstances. They’ve been using it to keep track of the timeline,” he added.

“So, what was next?” she prompted.

“You identified yourself as part of the Malfoy family. That bit happened when I first came home. It seems that someone called you ‘Mrs. Malfoy’ when we were out shopping for furniture, and by failing to correct that person and actually responding to the name, it constituted an acceptance of the title.”

“When we bought Louisa’s bedroom set,” she said shakily. “And the last?”

“You initiated physical contact with me,” he said, clearing his throat and averting his eyes briefly, “with love as its basis.”

She gasped. “When I kissed you last night.”

He nodded. “I’m so sorry, Hermione. I had no idea that what they’d done could be so… Machiavellian.”

“And the timeline?” she wondered.

“From what I’ve been told, the conditions had to be met within five years of the date of the original Declaration. There’s about sixteen months left on that bit. However, there’s an acceleration clause. If the conditions are met at any time within the five year span, the contract becomes binding six months after the final condition is met.”

“So, we have five months and twenty-nine days to figure out what to do,” she summarized.

“Yes and no. We have six months if we were to decide to marry. If we do nothing, we would be declared legally bound and married as of six months from yesterday, whether or not we complete an actual binding ceremony. If we decide we don’t want to marry, there is a sixty day period during which we could fully dissolve our ‘association,’ which is remarkably like an acrimonious divorce, or we would have to negotiate the specific terms of any further contact, including time with Louisa. That sets the clock at four months, for all practical purposes.”

Hermione swallowed a groan. “Please don’t tell me that her primary custody would be in question.”

“I don’t believe so, but you can be certain that I would Avada myself before I let anyone take her away from you. That’s a promise.”

She released his hand and scrubbed her palms against her face. “This is a lot to take in, Draco. Only yesterday did we even think to entertain whether we’d consider getting involved.”

“I know,” he answered in an anguished whisper. “And the truth is that it made me happier than I’ve been in… forever. But we can’t allow ourselves to be manipulated, either. What will we do?” Her response was to take his hand again, snuggling slightly closer to seek what comfort she might find.

He sat quietly for a few moments, contemplating how angry she was, not just for what his parents had done to manipulate both of them, but for the enormous breach of trust that it represented for him. He thought that there was some shred of understanding for their motivation, but the pair had actually become closer without their interference. This development threatened to pull them apart, if the weight of their machinations overbalanced their tentative steps forward. Four months was not a long time to make such enormous decisions, particularly under that kind of pressure.

Not even a full day earlier, he and Hermione had sat in this very spot, confessing their growing feelings and their wishes to consider more. It nearly crushed his heart to think that their bubble had been burst so quickly.

Rousing him from his musing, he heard Hermione say, “I think I know how we can handle this.” The fact that she wore a determined smile gave him a glimmer of hope that hadn’t been there moments earlier.


	28. Resilience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter focused on events in the past, it's time for Draco to say his goodbyes and for Hermione to consider new plans.

The deep chill and relentless snows of his final winter in Salem had the potential to put a damper on Draco’s mood, had he not had so many things finally start to go right in his life. There were many loops that were closing, giving him a satisfying sense of accomplishment and completion. Although he felt a bit melancholy over some of those endings, the promise of new challenges and possibilities buoyed his spirits tremendously.

Before he could fully contemplate any of these new ventures, though, Draco still had much to do, and only twelve short weeks in which to do them. Even the two hours per week that he’d gained by completing his formal therapy sessions with Dr. Kate were a major boon to his tightly packed schedule. He chuckled softly to himself as he took time to create a detailed study and action plan for everything that needed to be done in that brief window of time, recalling how Hermione had been needled over doing much the same when they’d been at Hogwarts. He thought she’d probably be amused and slightly smug that he was so diligently following the example she’d set so many years earlier.

Without that plan, he felt absolutely certain that he’d be running from pillar to post without actually covering any significant ground in between. From securing proper oversight for the foundation he’d be leaving behind, to finishing his coursework – including exams – in four weeks fewer than his classmates, to completing his senior thesis, there was enough work to keep him occupied at least ten hours a day without even considering his regular duties at the Grapevine. He still, too, had to prepare his final petition to return to wizarding Great Britain. For that, he’d thankfully accept the aid offered by Barrister Phillips.

The foundation had been up and running for about six months, and had exceeded every expectation and hope that Draco had had about its reach and impact. There were now fourteen restaurants in addition to the Grapevine participating in the project. Some were contributing unused food, others offered both volunteer and paid manpower to prepare or serve meals, and one had set up a “pay it forward” night every week, giving customers discounted meals in exchange for making financial contributions to the foundation.

Under the foundation’s banner, an additional three restaurants in nearby Haverhill had banded together to set up a second site so that the initial location was not so overwhelmed with traffic. Draco’s natural leadership abilities, along with his obvious passion for the mission, had drawn both attention and admiration, ensuring that his idea became self-perpetuating. Now, he felt compelled to leave the organization’s operation in the hands of someone who would shepherd it as he would. While Bob might have seemed an obvious choice – and would continue to support the project from behind the scenes – he simply did not have the time to run both the substantially busier Grapevine and the foundation on a full-time basis.

With Bob’s help and guidance, Draco interviewed more than a dozen candidates for the position of Foundation Director, a full-time, paid position that would require its incumbent to interact with the community, raise funds, and oversee the financial operations of the growing organization. Day-to-day on-site operations would be supervised by the volunteer managers who had been assisting Draco by overseeing meal preparation and service, and in handling the influx of food and beverage donations. The cash gifts were now nearly enough to support a salary for someone to run the operation, and Draco made private arrangements with Bill LeBlanc to cover any shortfall against the Director’s pay through his own donations once his trust fund became available to him upon his return to England.

When he’d finally narrowed the field to three candidates, Draco decided to use some of the tactics he’d learned in his studies to help him make his ultimate choice. He asked each of the candidates (two women and one man) to volunteer for one four-hour shift at the service facility. It would give him an opportunity to observe each person in action and to evaluate the two factors that were most important to him, apart from the management and financial acumen required by the job. First, how would each applicant interact with the people receiving services, and second, how would they support the efforts of the burgeoning network of volunteers who ensured the foundation’s successful operation? He resolved that the person who was more likely to dive in and help rather than to simply stand back and issue orders would be a better fit.

After observing each person in his or her volunteer shift, the decision was easy. One candidate had done exactly as he’d feared and had stood around issuing orders to people who knew far better than he exactly what needed to be done. Worse, he didn’t interact with any of the customers, remaining aloof and separate from the diners. It was clear to Draco that this person wanted a job, but didn’t have a passion for the mission.

The second candidate was delightfully polite and engaged with the customers, but did nothing to help when the kitchen became horribly swamped. She was definitely a “people person” and also had the required financial skill, but didn’t seem to understand the stark necessities of the operation. That was certainly better than the first candidate, but not enough to warrant a job offer.

The third candidate seemed to have been heaven-sent. She divided her time between interacting with diners and working with the kitchen volunteers, asking questions of both to gain understanding of what was working well and where improvements or enhancements might be made. She was engaged and interested from the first moment she arrived, and behaved as though she were already responsible for the foundation’s success. Further surprising and delighting Draco, she stayed for more than an hour beyond the time she’d committed to spend. Considering that he’d be working with her, from afar, for the foreseeable future, Draco was thrilled to have found someone he felt he could trust to ensure that his vision would be honored and fostered. The Feeding Families Foundation would be left in the capable hands of Andrea Peterson, a lovely fifty-ish woman whose vibrant personality was at least as central to her selection as were her knowledge and skills. She took control of the organization eight weeks before Draco’s departure, allowing time for any transitional wrinkles to be ironed out.

Draco’s next big hurdle was completing all of his coursework prior to his departure. Since classes didn’t end until the first week of May and he would be leaving in the first week of April, Draco called upon his academic advisor, Dr. Kelsey Rickabaugh, to assist him in working with his professors to finish assignments and take his exams four weeks ahead of his classmates. His stellar reputation and Dean’s List grades made the requests less daunting, and all of his professors were generous in allowing him some leeway to achieve his goal. In only one class, where Draco was once again required to participate in a group project, would he be issued a “provisional” grade until the project was turned in at the end of the term. His teammates were aware of his departure plans and had been most accommodating in agreeing to work via computer files once Draco departed. They’d also been kind enough to structure the project so that the vast majority of his contribution to the final product was front-loaded. He’d only need to give a brief final summation after he’d left, easily done via email, or letter if he were unable to get computer access back in London. Thus, all of his final exams or term projects would be turned in on or before April 1st.

That left only his senior thesis as the final requirement to complete his Baccalaureate degree. Since he’d been working on it for months, on and off, it was nearly complete. He’d take time during his final two weeks to review, revise, and edit as necessary, turning it in to Dr. Rickabaugh in the last week of March. Because it was also to serve as his template for kicking off the Feeding Families Foundation in Great Britain, he would retain a full copy for himself. Seeing all of the pieces of his education come to conclusion, Draco was feeling an exhilarating sense of anticipation for the successful completion of his venture and looking forward to the new challenges that would allow him to put into practice all that he had learned. His plans and potential were the topic of conversation when he and his advisor met during the first week of March.

Draco knocked on Professor Rickabaugh’s office door and waited for a moment for the educator’s invitation to enter.

“Door’s open; come on in,” he called.

“Thanks, Professor,” Draco replied as he opened the door and took his customary seat in the wooden chair before the man’s surprisingly small and ridiculously cluttered desk.

“Coming down the home stretch now, Draco,” Rickabaugh commented.

“Yes, sir. Just four weeks of classes, then my exams. And, of course, my thesis,” Draco accounted.

“And once all of that’s done, have you given more thought to your plans?” he inquired.

“Well, as we’ve discussed, I’m still planning to set up a branch of my foundation in London. After that, I really haven’t given it too much consideration,” he admitted. “I do think that the foundation will take up a good deal of my time and effort for several months, at least.”

Rickabaugh nodded slowly. “I’ve no doubt that it will take you some time. My confidence in your abilities is such that I’m encouraging you to think beyond that project. I’m certain that you’ll have it tackled and well in hand sooner than you think.”

“I do believe that I have a good plan in place, as you’ve seen in my thesis drafts, and having several months’ experience under my belt will certainly be a help. The biggest hurdle I see is that I’m going to be starting from scratch. Here, there was an established restaurant that helped to serve as a kick-off point.”

“That will make it substantially more complicated,” the professor allowed. “Have you figured out how you’ll work through that?”

Draco nodded. “You’ll see the details in my final thesis document, but the bottom line is that I will have access to substantial financial resources there that are not available to me now. That will help immensely.”

Rickabaugh cocked an eyebrow in response. “Well, that’s intriguing. Care to share more about that?” he challenged.

Draco could feel the flush rising from his chest to his neck and face. While the greater details didn’t need to be shared, and certainly not their underlying reasons, there would be no harm in sharing some of the truth. He cleared his throat. “Yes, well, my family has some substantial financial worth, and when I return to England, I will have three trust funds that will be released to my control. I plan to use some of that money to purchase a building and establish my project.”

“I see,” he replied. “And these are resources which are not under your control now.”

“No, sir, they are not. My time here has been purposely and intentionally devoid of those resources. There were lessons that I needed to learn,” he said, hoping that would be sufficient explanation for his suddenly curious advisor.

While Draco saw an expression that hinted at his professor’s burning interest, no further questions on the specific topic were forthcoming.

The professor, however, apparently saw a different avenue that he wanted to explore. “Does that mean that you’ll have responsibilities in managing your family’s financial interests, too?”

Draco shook his head in denial. “Not for a good long while, if I have anything to say about it. My father is still young and healthy, and I hope to have at least fifteen years before I take over the family firm,” he answered.

“But you will do that at some point,” the advisor confirmed.

“Yes, it’s expected of me, and I do want to take up that role at some point. Just not immediately,” he emphasized.

“I’m curious, then, why you took the management track rather than the financial track,” Rickabaugh wondered.

“I did that because I felt that the management track gave me a broader picture. We have plenty of financial advisors available to us. I also thought that I’d have some time to strengthen my financial acumen along the way,” Draco reasoned.

“Seems like a sound strategy,” he agreed with a sage nod. “You may want to consider some post-graduate work in finance, then. Let me know if you’re interested. I’d be happy to write a recommendation for you, and even help you find a worthy program.”

“Thank you, Professor. I appreciate the offer,” Draco replied.

The good professor was apparently not done, though. “One more thing, Draco. With your ability and talent, I’ve never really understood how you ended up here at Salem State. Don’t get me wrong; we provide a solid education here. But you could have performed admirably at any of the top level schools in the area. BU, Tufts, Bentley, Brandeis, even Harvard – any of them were well within your academic reach.”

Draco smiled ruefully. “Lots of reasons, sir. Some financial, some timing concerns, and a few, uh, youthful indiscretions would have made that difficult. I’m content with what I’ve learned and accomplished here, and I feel that it’s given me the time and circumstances to put my life on the track where it needs to be. I think everything has worked out for the best,” he concluded.

“Fair enough,” Rickabaugh allowed. “I just hate to see great potential unrealized. I hope you’ll have the opportunity to advance your learning once you return home. You have the ability to go very, very far, Draco.”

“I hope that I’ll be able to live up to your expectations, sir. I don’t intend to stop growing where I am,” he promised, as much to himself as to his advisor.

XXXXX

Hermione’s anxiety was increasing in direct proportion to two factors: first, the rapidly diminishing number of days until Draco was due to return from Salem, and second, Narcissa’s unbridled glee over that impending event.

It wouldn’t be long before the proverbial chickens would come home to roost and she’d have to face the consequences of the decision she’d made nearly three years earlier. She felt somewhat comforted in knowing that she’d created something of a plan to tell Draco about the child he’d unwittingly fathered. Narcissa’s revelation a few weeks earlier that Draco had expressed a desire to speak with her also gave her some hope that he’d be somewhat open to discussing the difficulties that had brought them to this point. While some of her trepidation was undoubtedly linked to concern over an angry reaction, she was still worried that the stress of the news would be damaging to Draco’s formerly fragile mental health. The last thing she wanted was to have the shock trigger a relapse for him.

Lucius and Narcissa were not unsympathetic to her concerns, but they were, understandably, more focused on other elements of Draco’s repatriation. Narcissa had tasked the house-elves with ensuring that Draco’s suite was cleaned from top to bottom and fully stocked with toiletries and linens. New clothing would have to wait until his return, as fittings would probably be required to account for the changes in his physical characteristics in his three years away. She recalled with an involuntary shiver how painfully thin he had been when he’d been sent away. His improved health today was an enormous relief.

While both of Draco’s parents were concerned about his reaction to the secret they’d been coerced into keeping, they were curious about the vague plans that he’d referenced a handful of times during their Floo conversations. They were peripherally aware of the charity project he’d undertaken under the auspices of the restaurant at which he worked, but he’d not shared many details of the work he’d done to establish the venture. He’d seemed reluctant to share the whys and wherefores, but Narcissa felt that she knew her son well enough to offer a guess or two. She’d told Lucius that she believed he’d used the project as a way to assuage the guilt that had plagued him for so long. Her husband did not discount her supposition, but offered his opinion that there was more to the story. Since he’d not been forthcoming with any additional insight, they were left to speculate and wonder.

It had prompted a debate between the couple over what they might do to ease his way back into wizarding society.

“Have you considered what position you might find or create for Draco in the firm?” Narcissa had prodded.

“Darling, there will always be a place available for him, should he desire it,” Lucius retorted. “My largest concern is to ensure that he finds a role for which he is well-suited and where he can find some contentment. For that reason, I think it best that I leave options open until he and I have the opportunity to discuss his goals privately and in depth. Let’s also remember that he may adjust his thinking when he learns about the developments in his absence.”

“True, that may influence his choices,” she agreed. “Speaking of his contentment, now that he’ll know about Louisa, what are you planning on telling him about the decree?”

“As little as possible,” he replied firmly. “It will be shock enough for him to learn about Louisa. I don’t want to muddy the waters just yet with things that are completely beyond his control.”

“Isn’t that just the point, though?” she insisted. “He’s worked so diligently to regain control of his life, I fear that he’ll view our actions as unforgiveable.”

Lucius sighed indulgently. “Narcissa, please don’t tell me now that you’re having second thoughts. It’s far too late for that. He’s probably going to be angry over any number of things, but his confession about his feelings for Hermione confirms for me that what we’ve done is ultimately for the best for everyone concerned. Truthfully, all of the control is in her hands. If she does not trigger the conditions, the contract is null and void.”

“And if she does?” Narcissa pressed.

“Then we can assume that they are well on their way to building a relationship on their own. Particularly the third condition would mean that she has developed real feelings for him. When the time is right, we will share with them what they need to know and not one moment before.”

It was Narcissa’s turn to sigh. “You know I’m as committed as you are to finding a way to draw the two of them together. They’re as well suited to each other as any two people I’ve ever seen. But with all the difficulties between them over the years, I fear that Draco’s attachment to her simply won’t be enough to overcome their pasts.”

Lucius nodded. “And that’s exactly why the ultimate control has been left in Hermione’s hands. If she fails to trigger all three of the conditions within the five-year span, the contract for marriage will not come into play.”

“But the rest of it?” Narcissa asked for confirmation and clarification.

“All of the trusts and gifts are completely independent of the marriage agreement. If they do marry, obviously, Hermione and Louisa would have access to the entire estate, just as you do today. As it stands now, Louisa is Draco’s fully recognized heiress and even if he were to marry someone other than Hermione, any children of that union would not supplant Louisa’s rights,” Lucius reminded her.

“I’ve never fully understood how you ensured that outcome, Lucius. Why would it not be Draco’s right to name a child of another marriage as his heir?”

Lucius paused, considering how to address his wife’s question. He didn’t want to mislead her, but he also didn’t want to give her any cause for worry, because there truly was none. His motivation for the pieces he’d put into place were simply his deep and abiding love for Louisa and his grateful respect and admiration for her mother. It wasn’t in his make-up to confess such feelings, even to his wife, so he couched it all in Slytherin intrigues. “Nothing that I’ve set in motion fully removes Draco’s rights to determine the direction of the Malfoy estate once it is fully in his control. By virtue of being his firstborn child, Louisa is heiress to the estate. As you well know, it’s quite uncommon for Malfoys to have more than one child, and while it has never been proved conclusively, there is ample evidence pointing to a curse that limits us in that way. The infusion of new blood, however, in the person of a Muggle-born spouse may change that. If Draco and Hermione were to marry and have other children, there is nothing that would prohibit him from allowing the estate to be equitably shared amongst his offspring. I know that hasn’t been done traditionally, but the wizarding world is changing. I truly don’t care what happens to the heraldic titles.

“Should Draco marry someone other than Hermione, his holdings apart from the trust and gifts already assigned to Hermione and Louisa would still be available to him to bequeath as he sees fit, with one exception. Louisa will still be his acknowledged heiress, giving her access to the Malfoy bequests, if not his personal vaults. The only way for that to change would be for him to deny paternity, and I would challenge that with a Wizangamot-ordered magical test, which you know we would win. Truthfully, I know our son and I can’t imagine any scenario where Draco would even make the attempt, so I think this element is not even worth discussion.”

“I suppose it’s no use speculating over possibilities that are months, or even years away,” Narcissa allowed. “We can always work to influence circumstances along the way.”

“Ever my darling Slytherin,” Lucius observed with a wry expression, glad that she had followed his subtle guidance toward that conclusion.

“I learned from the best,” she retorted, staring at him pointedly. “Is there anything that we should be doing or attending to now?”

Lucius shook his head in refusal. “All of the documentation that needs to be in place has been handled. There’s nothing left but to wait for the two of them to either find their way together or to move on with their separate lives.”

XXXXX

Draco had been surprised when, six weeks earlier, Dr. Kate had told him that she was offering him a full release from his sex therapy sessions. Her reasoning made sense; he had successfully completed each and every one of the assignments and challenges that she had set out for him. Although the discussion of his sexuality had never come easy, having someone whom he trusted as a sounding board and confidante had been a true comfort as he worked, layer by layer, through his guilt, grief, and dysfunction. Their final professional conversation had been emotional and gratifying…

As Draco passed the mirror in the corridor on his way to Dr. Kate’s office, he was taken aback by the reflection that caught his attention. His own smile seemed remarkably unfamiliar, its ease and sincerity something that he hadn’t seen in himself for a very long time. Even the set of his shoulders and straightness of his posture seemed less severe and rigid. Who was this relaxed, content young man in the mirror?

He proceeded down the hallway to Dr. Kate’s open door and rapped sharply on the door jamb twice, entering as she caught his eye and waved him in. He sat while she rang off the phone call she’d just completed, then they greeted each other with warm smiles.

“Good evening, Doc,” Draco said, leaning back comfortably and propping an ankle over his opposite knee.

“You’re looking quite chipper and relaxed tonight, young man,” she observed. “Good day?”

“Several of them, in fact,” he acknowledged, his grin broadening to match the happiness in his voice.

“Anything in particular, or just generally positive developments?” she inquired.

“A few successes along the way, and one in particular that I think you’ll welcome,” he answered, giving Kate the substantial hint that she’d likely been expecting.

“Yes?” she wondered eagerly.

“Yes,” Draco replied definitively, accompanied by a sharp nod of his head.

Kate closed her eyes for barely a second, sending an instant prayer of thanks to the heavens for the end of Draco’s long and difficult road to healing. She reached out to grasp his forearm and offered her congratulations. “I’m so happy for you, Draco. This has been a long time coming, and you’ve worked so very hard to earn your progress.”

He nodded once more at her, this time solemnly. “And my progress couldn’t have happened without your kind and constant patience and guidance. I’m so grateful to you for all you’ve done to help me.” As he spoke, the slight hitch in his voice became more pronounced and he swallowed heavily, the easy posture and broad smiles of moments earlier now faded with the weight of the moment.

Keeping a firm and comforting hold on his arm, Kate’s own voice became quiet as she responded. “All the work was yours, Draco. I can’t make your progress; I can only help you to uncover the problems. If you weren’t ready, nothing I could have said or done would have moved you from where you started. You’re a remarkable and resilient young man, and I hope that you will find your happiness as fully as you’ve regained your health.”

Draco was momentarily at a loss for words. What she’d said to him had sounded remarkably like a goodbye. That was not something he’d anticipated hearing today. “Doctor Kate, what are you saying?” he asked, his tone a bit shaky and fearful.

“You know exactly what I’m saying, Draco, and you know in your heart that you’re ready for it,” she responded, still not relinquishing her comforting grip.

He shook his head. “No, no. I don’t think I’m ready to say goodbye,” he asserted.

“Well, now, I never said this was ‘goodbye.’ You’ve got a couple of months before you head back to the other side of the Atlantic, and I feel quite certain that the Roy family has not seen the last of Draco Malfoy. This is, though, the time for us to put an end to your therapy sessions with me. You’ve achieved everything that I hoped you could, and I think it’s now time for you to fly solo, if you’ll pardon the pun.”

Draco looked equally relieved and horrified. Their goodbyes could wait a few weeks, and he was immensely glad for that. Kate’s direct support was ending, though, and that was a terrifying prospect. He opened his mouth to speak and faltered, took a deep breath and tried again. “Are you certain that I’m ready to stop my treatment?” he asked haltingly.

She nodded confidently, finally releasing her hold on the young wizard’s arm and leaning back in her chair. “You are. There’s truly nothing more that I could ask of you that would advance your sexual health.”

Draco was a very intelligent and observant person, and he heard in both her tone and her choice of words that it didn’t mean that there wasn’t more for him to do. “Ah,” he said. “I see. The rest of my work can’t be done without a partner.”

Kate, easily as perceptive as her patient, was ready for his challenge. “That’s basically true, but I do believe, firmly, that you are ready to take that step. In fact, my intention was to use this final session to help you see that you’re ready for that, too.”

While Draco still felt a bit skeptical, he thought again about the fact that she’d never once steered him wrong. “I trust you. If you really think I’m ready to move on, I’m willing to accept it and hear whatever guidance you have for what could come next.”

“Good. Let’s talk about two scenarios, then. First, sex in the context of a casual situation, and second, in the context of a relationship,” she suggested.

Draco scoffed at that. “Doc, after nearly three years, you know me pretty well. Just how likely do you think it is that I’ll even consider purely casual sex?”

“Objection duly noted. That doesn’t mean that the scenario is impossible, and it’s my duty as your therapist to encourage you to consider it.”

He sighed dramatically. “Fine. I’m listening.”

She chuckled softly at his theatrics before posing a question. “In your dreams and fantasies, what do you notice about what sex looks and feels like? How are you interacting with your partner?”

Draco cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Getting down to the nitty-gritty details, aren’t we then?” he noted.

“I don’t need a play-by-play description, Draco. You well know that,” she admonished his assumption. “Just help me understand the broad dynamics.”

“I guess it would be different depending on who was the object of my dream. You know that it’s usually Hermione, and it tends to start slowly and gently, with lots of kissing and caressing. Kind of a slow burn, you could say. Most of the time, I think I’d describe it as sensual. Now and then, it’s more, uh, athletic.”

“Is there anything in particular that seems to trigger one or the other?” she probed.

Draco shrugged. “I’d guess it’s a function of my own mood. How she responds to me in dreams must be what my psyche is looking for, isn’t it?”

“That would be a reasonable assumption,” Kate acknowledged. “What about your mood would change the character of your interaction?”

He furrowed his brow briefly in thought. “There’s no great mystery or deep meaning, I don’t think. Sometimes, I guess it’s a result of feeling more playful, or more romantic, or maybe even just… randier. Wouldn’t that be normal?”

“Of course it would. That’s all very standard and very healthy. As we’ve discussed, sex isn’t generally the same every single time. That would get boring and unsatisfying after a while, particularly if you had only one partner. And sex doesn’t have to be defined by just intercourse.”

“And it’s not. In my dreams, that is,” he qualified. “So what does all of that mean for any real-life experience?”

“Tell me what you think it means,” she prodded. At his cheeky smirk, she pushed back. “Come on, you knew I’d ask that.”

“I’m eternally hopeful that I might get an answer, aren’t I?” he teased. His expression turned more serious and he offered his response. “Any interaction would have to be a true give-and-take. I’d pay attention to how my partner responded to my words and actions and I’d behave accordingly. As you’ve indicated, sometimes a couple wants to make love and sometimes they might want more of a… romp.” He concluded by nervously clearing his throat, the flush in his cheeks moving to his hairline.

Kate beamed at him with undiluted, undisguised pride. “Exactly.”

He waited for her to say more, but she simply watched him quietly. “Well, then.”

She set her notepad on the table between them and folded her hands lightly in her lap. “You recognize social cues, understand that people have different needs and desires at different times, respect the dynamics of feedback, and are able to adjust your own behavior to reflect changing circumstances. I couldn’t ask anything more in terms of solid psychosexual health. I couldn’t teach you anything more than what you already know instinctively. If you follow your heart, pay attention to your partner’s cues, and respond to them with as much clarity and sensitivity as you’ve expressed here, you’ll enjoy a very satisfying and healthy sex life.”

“Now I just need someone to have it with,” Draco responded wryly.

While that had been their final professional meeting, Kate was true to her word that it was not yet time for goodbyes. Those would come on Draco’s final full day in Salem.

XXXXX

Although the Malfoys maintained their secrecy about the plans and machinations they’d concocted, Hermione was crafting a plan of her own. As she’d discussed with Ginny a few weeks earlier, she was contemplating a move out of Malfoy Manor prior to Draco’s return. Her first step was to review her finances to see what she could afford. She’d not had to tap much of the nest egg that had been bequeathed to her upon her parents’ deaths because the Malfoys had been so insistent upon paying every expense and need she’d had since coming to live with them three years earlier. She hoped to leave that fund untouched as a hedge against future needs or emergencies. Her income as a first year Mind Healer was not inordinately generous, but it would be plenty to cover basic expenses for herself and Louisa.

She needed to decide whether to live in the Muggle world or in the magical community, too. That decision would have a substantial impact on what her costs might be and what support systems would be available to her. In a couple of days of research, she’d quite easily made the decision that living in the magical world would be less expensive – few “utility” bills would burden her – and she’d have access to services that could accommodate both her work schedule and Louisa’s needs as a magical child.

That decision made, she set about making a few discreet inquiries – most anonymously – and looking through the Daily Prophet’s lease and sale adverts for flats or small cottages in easy Floo-commute distance from St. Mungo’s. Three weeks of looking had produced abysmal results. Each property that she’d briefly considered on paper had been rejected sight-unseen as either far too expensive or unsuitable for size, location, or condition. The three properties she’d actually taken the time to personally inspect had been dismissed from her list when they were in markedly worse condition than their descriptions had indicated. Worse, no new locations within her targeted geographic area had become available in a couple of weeks, and she’d exhausted the supply of possibilities to which she had truly anonymous access. If she wanted to expand her horizons, she’d need to engage an estate agent, which would make it likely that her privacy was far from guaranteed. Still, if she was committed to making the move prior to Draco’s return in just a month, she’d really have little choice but to seek outside help. She knew that she’d have to tell Narcissa and Lucius first. There was minimal likelihood to keep her plan a secret once a professional agent became involved, as that person would need to cast nets far and wide for information on new options.

She decided that she would tell them that night after she’d put Louisa to bed. Delaying any longer would just be pointless, and time was not standing still. She worried that she’d already run out of time to find a place and complete a move in just four weeks.

Dinner that night was a bit tense. Hermione felt sure that her anxiety was written all over her face, and her antsy behavior had made Louisa fussy and sullen, adding further to her stress. As the meal concluded, she made the request for a private conversation, causing the Malfoys to feel their own uneasiness multiply.

At half eight that night, Hermione joined Narcissa and Lucius in the family sitting room. Her wringing hands and furrowed brow were further indications beyond her agitated behavior at dinner that she was not eager to discuss whatever was on her mind.

She sat in the blue silk armchair, facing the pair who were seated together on the matching loveseat. Smiling wanly, Hermione finally made eye contact. “I wanted to talk to you this evening about a decision I’ve made,” she began.

“Forgive me for leaping to conclusions, dear,” Lucius interrupted, “but your demeanor over the last couple of hours tells me that you aren’t terribly secure about that decision.”

She hesitated briefly, then answered his provocation. “It’s not that I’m insecure about the decision; it’s that I’m fairly confident that the two of you won’t react well to it, and I really don’t want to cause tension between us.”

“That should settle it, then. Just reverse your decision and everyone can remain content,” Narcissa proposed in a simplistic refutation that Hermione could only interpret as her attempt to diffuse the tension in the room.

“That’s just it, Narcissa. If I don’t do this, all of us will be miserable, I fear. Please, just hear me out,” she beseeched. When they jointly nodded their acquiescence, she presented her argument.

“With Draco’s return barely a month away, I’ve reached the conclusion that Louisa and I should move out of the Manor and find a place of our own to live.” She paused for a moment to allow them to absorb the impact of her statement, then continued with her explanation. “When Draco moves back, there will be enough stress and adjustments for him in getting re-acclimated that I can’t imagine it would be healthy or productive to have Louisa and me here. And to be honest, I’m not sure that either of us would be comfortable living under the same roof. I’ve started looking for a flat near St. Mungo’s, and I hope to find something in the next week or two so that we can be moved out before he returns.”

Glancing between the two Malfoys, Hermione couldn’t say which one seemed to be more horrified by her announcement. It seemed that Narcissa had been stunned into silence, but Lucius took a moment to mentally organize his arguments against her choice.

“Let’s look at this logically before you make any rash moves,” he said. “What have you considered for finances? You’ve only just begun working at St. Mungo’s.”

“That’s true, but my salary is certainly adequate to provide for the two of us. As a backup, I’ve not touched my inheritance from my parents, because the two of you have been so generous since we’ve been here. I honestly don’t think I’ll need to dip in to that reserve,” she explained.

“But you certainly wouldn’t have the resources and comforts that you have living here,” he argued.

“True again, and please don’t think me ungrateful for anything you’ve given us, but as lovely as life is here at the Manor, I’ve lived the vast majority of my life in much more modest surroundings. I think that Louisa wouldn’t be harmed by seeing a less opulent way of life.”

“What about daily care for Louisa?” Narcissa interjected, seizing upon an opening that would surely be one of Hermione’s hesitations. “Here, she is cared for by people who love her and by the best nanny elves you could ever hope to find.”

“She would be enrolled in the daily care program at St. Mungo’s just one floor away from where I work, and it’s staffed by extremely capable education professionals,” Hermione responded.

“You still wouldn’t have the kind of support that you have from your family here,” Lucius added quietly.

“You will need to focus more of your time and attention on Draco when he returns,” she argued, although the touching reference to their “family” status did not go unnoticed. “I’ll be fine.”

“But we’ll miss both of you terribly,” Narcissa argued.

“Us moving away doesn’t mean that we won’t see you frequently; it just won’t be a daily event,” she replied.

“Please reconsider, Hermione. The Manor is massive. You and Draco would rarely even see each other,” Narcissa pleaded. “We really don’t want you to go.”

Hermione gnawed on her lip anxiously, recognizing how easily they could wear her down if they kept at it. “I will miss you, too. You’ve been kinder to us than I ever could have imagined, and you know I love you both dearly. I just can’t see how I can possibly stay.”

“Hermione, I just ask that you don’t make a decision too hastily. There’s no hurry for you to leave. Even when Draco returns, we can move you and Louisa over to the West wing if it would make you more comfortable,” Lucius offered.

“Lucius, while I truly appreciate the thought, have you considered that it may also be uncomfortable for Draco to have me – and Louisa – around? This is going to be an enormous adjustment for him as much as it will be for us,” Hermione suggested.

“I feel quite sure that once Draco gets over the initial surprise, he would not be disappointed to have you and Louisa nearby,” Lucius said, hinting at the feelings he knew his son harbored for her. “Please, just don’t make any irreversible decisions yet.”

Having rarely heard that level of plea from the man, Hermione had to admit that it was causing her to pause, if only not to hurt his feelings. Lucius seemed as genuinely distressed by the idea of their departure as his wife was. She sighed with frustration over the untenable situation. “Look, I haven’t yet had any success in finding something appropriate, and it may take a bit of time. The most I can promise for now is that I’ll speak to you before I sign a lease or purchase agreement,” she offered.

“Thank you, dear. We really don’t want you to leave, but I do respect your concerns. Let’s just keep thinking, and maybe we can find a way to keep everyone happy without necessitating a move,” Lucius replied while Narcissa enthusiastically nodded her agreement.

“Well, it’s been a long day, and I’m beyond knackered,” Hermione announced. “I think I’m going to turn in early. Goodnight.” She rose from her seat and approached the pair on the loveseat, leaning in to place a kiss on Narcissa’s cheek first, then Lucius’. “I’ll see you at breakfast.” With that, she left the room, the Malfoys remaining behind.

“We can’t allow her to leave,” Narcissa told her husband. “Whatever you have to do, make sure she doesn’t find anything suitable.”

Lucius cocked an eyebrow at his wife. “Are you suggesting that we should keep her here against her will? Most societies frown upon abduction, no matter how benign the environment or circumstances might be.”

She visibly deflated at his characterization of her request. “Well, I do suppose that’s taking it a bit further than I intend. We should just make it much easier and more attractive for her to stay rather than to leave. I’m sure we can find ways to entice her.”

“Let me give it some thought,” he replied with an exasperated huff. “I agree that I’d certainly prefer that she and Louisa remain here, but you know how stubborn Hermione can be when she sets her mind to something. Just keep hope that something will cause her to change her decision.”

XXXXX

Draco had feared that his waning time in America would drag interminably. The opposite proved to be true. Time seemed to be moving at double speed and before he could comprehend the fact, he was down to his final week in Salem. He’d heard from Barrister Phillips a few days earlier that his petition for repatriation had been accepted, and he would be allowed to return to England any time after the 27th of March. His “good behavior and good works” while living on the north shore of Massachusetts had earned him a few days’ reprieve. Since his school work was finally complete, he thought he’d arrive home a few days early as a surprise to his parents.

His departure had caused more of a ruckus than he’d anticipated or wanted. There had been no less than three separate parties to celebrate his achievements and give him a fond farewell. There was one more private gathering on the schedule, and he wasn’t certain if it was the one he was most dreading or most eager to attend.

The “Going But Never Forgotten” party at the Grapevine had been attended by just about everyone with whom he’d ever worked at the venerable establishment. Bob Gotro had actually closed the place down to public access the previous Wednesday, forfeiting hundreds, if not thousands, of dollars in revenue to say goodbye and good luck to the young man whose arrival had made such a dramatic and lasting mark on the restaurant’s identity and place in the community. Chef Marcel had prepared a sumptuous feast consisting of seafood delicacies that Draco would miss dreadfully, and a seemingly never-ending flow of alcohol, refusing to allow Draco to even enter the kitchen to help, insisting that his aid would not be accepted for the evening.

While the night had been primarily about sharing food and drinks with his coworkers, Draco had taken the opportunity to express his gratitude to the members of the team who had been so supportive of his efforts in launching the Feeding Families Foundation, many of whom volunteered many hours each week. As he worked the room, saying his formal farewells and developing a very pleasant buzz with the free-flowing libations, his two bosses were putting the finishing touches on a farewell of their own.

Just before eleven o’clock, Chef Marcel appeared with a large triple-tiered cake and several bottles of champagne, which were quickly distributed throughout the room. Beside him, Bob carried three crystal flutes and a large white envelope. He called out Draco’s name loudly, over the music that played in the background. “Draco Malfoy, report to the front of the room,” he boomed, his deep baritone carrying throughout the large space.

As he wove through the crowd and the tables, he heard someone take up a chant, repeating his name over and over again. “Draco! Draco! Draco!” He was feeling as exhilarated as he was mortified. Finally arriving at Bob’s side, Draco played along with the campiness of the evening.

Clicking his heels together and bowing stiffly and formally at the waist, he said, “Draco Malfoy reporting as ordered, sir.”

Cuffing him teasingly on his arm, then wrapping his own arm around Draco’s shoulders, Bob spoke to the crowd. “May I have your attention, everyone?” In response, someone turned down the volume on the music and the murmur of dozens of conversations ceased.

When the crowd’s attention had fully turned to the two men who had now flanked Draco, Bob began. “Almost three years ago, a dreadfully skinny, horribly shy young man came to our doorstep looking for a job washing dishes. He was smart, diligent, and committed to working hard and learning something new at every opportunity. It wasn’t long before he began to make a positive difference here, taking on new responsibilities and earning four promotions in two years. The only complaint we ever had was from the female customers who were incredibly disappointed that the handsome guy with the sexy British accent was no longer to be found in the dining room.”

That remark earned hoots and whistles throughout the crowd and a deep red blush from Draco. Bob smirked and winked at him, then continued. “Then, about a year ago, this guy with the sexy accent came to us with an idea to make use of the wasted food in the restaurant. Except his idea was much, much bigger than that. His idea ushered in a transformative moment for this business, this community, and for me and Chef Marcel, too. I’ve never seen anyone dig so deep, devote so much passion, and achieve so much on behalf of the needs of others as this young man. He has provided inspiration to more than a dozen other business owners, modeled commitment and giving to hundreds of volunteers, and delivered hope to thousands of disadvantaged members of our local community, all while earning his degree in business and working full time as one of our station chefs. Since Draco has contributed so much to our success here at the Grapevine, and to the auspicious launch of the Feeding Families Foundation, we thought it would be appropriate to make a contribution of our own. Most of you probably know that when Draco returns to England, he plans to start up a branch of the foundation there. So in order to get things off to a good start, we’d like to present you with a little gift from all of us.” Bob handed the large envelope to Draco and urged him to open it.

The young man was stunned to find a large greeting card wishing him “Bon Voyage” and signed by all of his coworkers. Inside was a check made payable to the foundation in the amount of $10,000. His jaw went slack and his eyes swam with tears. Reaching over, he drew first Bob and then Marcel into embraces, hoarsely whispering his gratitude. Turning to the gathering, he raised his arm in a wave of thanks and acknowledgement. He heard the crowd begin to call, “Speech! Speech!” and saw Bob nod his encouragement.

“I can’t begin to tell you how grateful I am for your generosity, not only with this astonishing donation, but with your trust, your time, and your friendship. When I arrived here in Salem three years ago, I was not in a good spot, and through all that you taught me and all that you’ve given me, I was able to find some peace in my heart and a home away from home. I learned what it means to give through your examples, and I hope that I’ll carry those lessons with me throughout my life. So, this not-quite-so-skinny and considerable less shy young man from over the pond will leave you with a full heart and fond memories. Thank you, everyone, for your gift of friendship,” Draco concluded as he looked out into the crowded dining room.

Just then, he heard a loud pop and turned to see Chef Marcel pouring champagne into the three flutes that Bob had been holding throughout his impromptu speech. Handing one to Draco, one to Marcel, and keeping the third for himself, Bob noted that the bottles which had been passed around were now popping and glasses were being filled. Raising his glass high, Bob spoke once more. “To Draco Malfoy. We wish you happiness and success in everything you do!” The crowd responded with cheers and applause, which Draco acknowledged with his own raised glass. Chef Marcel cut and served the cake, and an hour later, the crowd finally began to disperse, making their farewells to Draco and their bosses. Finally, only Draco, Bob, and Chef Marcel were left.

“I can’t thank you both enough for your faith in me and for all you’ve taught me. I will be forever grateful for your kindness,” Draco said, shaking each man’s hand in turn.

“You’ve more than paid it back, son,” Bob said. “Your little project has made the Grapevine more popular than it’s been in years, and you can count on us to keep the torch burning for the foundation when you go. You’ve done a great job in hiring Andrea to run the operation, too. I know you’ll be in touch now and again, but I hope you’ll find the time to come back for a visit once in a while, too.”

“She’ll go a great job, and I promise, I’ll come back at least once a year to make sure the lot of you haven’t cocked things up around here,” Draco teased.

Chef Marcel had been uncharacteristically quiet all evening, and the reason soon became clear. He grabbed Draco into a bear hug and squeezed tightly. “Gonna miss you something awful, kid,” he choked out, barely containing his emotion.

Returning the elder wizard’s embrace and sentiment, Draco said, “Yeah, me too, boss. I promise to Floo-call you once every few weeks for new recipe ideas and cooking lessons.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Chef Marcel replied, relinquishing his hold on the young man with a final pat on the back. “If you want to take a few days off from the kitchen to work in the foundation, that’d be fine by me. We can cover your shifts with a couple extra hours from your two cohorts,” he offered.

“Thanks, I might do that for a day or two, but Andrea’s really got things well in hand. Won’t be long before my absence won’t even be noticed,” he postulated, only somewhat facetiously.

“I wouldn’t lay odds on that, kid,” the chef retorted. “You’ve really made an indelible mark on this community that won’t be forgotten for years to come. You will be sorely missed by many beyond me.”

“Before we all get too maudlin around here,” Bob interjected, “you’ll be around for another week anyway. We can all have a good cry on your last day. For now, it’s almost one o’clock, and I’ll bet at least one of us has to get up early in the morning. So get out of here and get some sleep.”

They’d all departed together, for what would actually be the final time, and Draco walked home slowly on the surprisingly mild night, reflecting on the warm feelings shared throughout the evening and the impending departure that was evoking significantly more emotion than he’d expected. It took him nearly thirty minutes to stroll to the cottage, and though he thought his physical exhaustion would allow him to find sleep quickly, he laid awake until dawn, his head full of memories and his heart full with anticipation.

XXXXX

Draco’s plan to return to England was now complete. Every exam had been taken and each project or paper turned in, including the thesis that he’d finally, proudly, handed to Kelsey Rickabaugh. He was eager to receive feedback on each piece and had ensured its delivery by having Barrister Phillips set up a post box on his behalf in the Muggle section of Wiltshire. The key had been forwarded to him via Floo post just a day earlier.

He had started to sort through the few belongings that he had accumulated and found that, aside from some clothing and his college texts, there was little that he would take with him. His next task had been to go through the cottage room by room, cleaning and ensuring that items and systems were readied for long-term storage. While it was possible, even likely, that he would return to Salem for brief visits in the future, it would probably not be for many months. He used magic – still a rare occurrence – to accomplish many of these jobs and to pack and shrink the books and garments he wanted. The finished product would fit in one hand-carried satchel.

Although Dr. David Roy had made the same suggestion as his wife that Draco was ready to stop his therapy sessions, the younger wizard had asked to continue until the end of his stay. He found that the anxiety and anticipation of such a momentous transition required a bit of processing, and Draco was grateful for the outlet to discuss his concerns and hopes. That he had formed warm and genuine feelings of trust and friendship for his therapists and their children went unspoken but not unrecognized. The impending goodbyes to this family were, in fact, his biggest source of discomfort.

Like each other ending and completion, this one, too, would inevitably come. That happened on Draco’s final night in Massachusetts, when he joined the family in their home for a farewell dinner.

As requested, he arrived by Floo at six o’clock that evening, carrying a good bottle of red wine that he’d purchased at a local “package store” (the name being a local oddity for a liquor vendor, repeated almost nowhere but in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts and small sections of southern New Hampshire), and a carrot cake with cream cheese frosting given to him, despite his protests of wanting to pay for it, by Bob Gotro when he’d dropped by the Grapevine to pick up his final paycheck.

He was greeted by Daryl and Thomas, and the aroma of something quintessentially Italian. After accepting the boys’ warm welcome, Draco stopped in the kitchen to say hello to Kate (whom he finally relented to call by her name once they’d ended their professional relationship) and to give her the wine and cake that he’d brought.

Kate smiled warmly and planted a familial kiss on his cheek. “I’d hug you, but as you can see, I’m up to my elbows in washing lettuce for the salad,” she said.

Draco laughed in response. “I can see that, and I’ll claim a hug from you at some point in the evening, I’m sure. Anything I can do to help?”

Since Draco was so comfortable in their kitchen, Kate didn’t hesitate to ask for his assistance. “Sure. If you want to chop the tomatoes, cucumbers, and bell peppers for the salad, I’ll finish drying the greens and mixing the vinaigrette.”

“Consider it done,” he answered, rolling up his sleeves, washing his hands, and retrieving an extra cutting board and chef’s knife from their respective storage racks. “Is your husband not home yet?” he inquired, having not seen or heard him in the five or so minutes since his arrival.

“He just ran to the market to pick up a loaf of Italian bread. I tried to make one from scratch, but it was an utter failure. I’ll blame it on bad yeast,” she added with a blushing grin.

“Could very well be,” he acknowledged. “But it could also be blamed on the rain. Takes bread dough much longer to rise when it’s damp or humid outside.”

The boys, who’d disappeared for a few moments after welcoming Draco, bounded into the kitchen carrying a box which was wrapped in a manner that could be best described as haphazard. They seemed intent on presenting it to Draco immediately, but Kate admonished them that they needed to wait until after dinner.

Although Draco’s curiosity was certainly piqued, he simply winked at the boys, who accepted the gesture as his gratitude in advance. He returned to chopping the vegetables and asked, “What is that incredible scent? I can tell it’s something Italian, obviously, and it’s making my mouth water.”

“David’s grandmother’s recipe for lasagna, made with Italian sausage meatballs. He only makes it for very special occasions; it took him a good part of the day to do. Even made the sauce from scratch,” Kate answered proudly.

“Wow, he shouldn’t have gone to that much trouble for me,” Draco said. “I’d have been happy with pizza and beer.”

Kate chuckled at his comment. “Are you kidding me? He’s been talking about making this for you for months. It’s his way of saying congratulations for all you’ve accomplished, and to ensure that you won’t forget us after such a mouth-watering feast,” she teased. “He’s already been partially successful,” she observed, referencing his earlier comment.

“I can guarantee that nothing will make me ever forget you, short of full obliviation,” Draco asserted. “You’ve always made me feel like a member of the family, and that’s not something I take lightly.”

“That’s because you’ve more than earned that spot with us, from the first time you came to our home to sit with the boys. Kids are pretty good judges of character, you know, and they took to you in a heartbeat. It just confirmed the good impression David had already formed about you,” she revealed. She paused from her chore at the sink to make eye contact. “They weren’t wrong.”

The back door opened and David walked through, carrying the freshly baked bread that he’d been sent to buy. “Hey, Draco! Put you to work already, did she?”

Draco sniggered briefly. “Chopping vegetables is not work, trust me. I’ve done it so much, I can almost manage it with my eyes closed.”

“I have no doubt you could,” David agreed, patting the young man on the back. Turning to his wife, he asked, “Is the table set, or do I need to do that?”

“All done. The oven timer has five more minutes to go, and we’re just about finished assembling the salad. We should be ready to eat in about twenty minutes,” she estimated, allowing ten minutes or so for the lasagna to rest before serving.

David peeked inside the oven, releasing even more delectable aromas, and Draco breathed deeply. “I understand this is your special family recipe. I’m honored that you’d go to so much trouble for me.”

The Healer waved a hand in dismissal. “No trouble. It’s a joy to share it with you. This is a very special occasion, after all. As much as marking your departure, we’re celebrating your successes and congratulating you on your degree. Any one of those would be worthy of this little effort, but all of them at once? It’s a no-brainer,” he avowed. He noticed the bottle of wine and the cake that Kate had taken a moment to place on a pedestal platter. Inspecting the label, he said, “Nice vintage. Would you like me to open it?”

“That’s what I brought it for,” Draco answered. “You could even pour it now, if you want. It’ll be ready to drink with a little breathing.”

“Restaurant knowledge or personal experience?” David teased.

“Both,” Draco replied with a grin.

True to Kate’s estimate, twenty minutes later, they were all seated at the dining room table enjoying a fine meal and easy conversation. The elephant in the room was diligently avoided for the duration of the repast and through clearing the table and eating dessert. Only when there were no further distractions available did the true purpose for Draco’s visit become the focus of their collective attention when Daryl whispered, sotto voce, to his mother his request to give Draco the package they’d been asked to stow away a couple of hours earlier.

David smiled indulgently at his younger son and said, ‘Sure Daryl. In fact, just give me a moment; I want to go get something from my study. Why don’t we all go get comfortable in the family room?”

The Roy gentlemen joined Draco and Kate a few moments later, the boys with their package and David carrying a smaller one, elegantly wrapped in silver paper with a black velvet bow. Kate reached into the gap between the easy chair she’d chosen and the oak end table, and pulled out a wrapped package of her own.

“Aw, come on, you guys. You shouldn’t have bought anything for me. That wasn’t necessary,” Draco protested.

“Au contraire, Monsieur Malfoy. While we give our congratulations to you on our many achievements, each of these gifts is designed to guarantee that we’ll haunt your memory for a lifetime,” David replied.

“And as I’ve said before, there’s no chance I’ll ever forget any of you. Even if we don’t see each other terribly often, we can Floo-call any time you’d like,” Draco reminded them.

“Of course we will. But you’ll be busy on new projects and possibilities and we’ll get involved with baseball practice in a few weeks. These will just be little reminders for the times in between,” Kate interjected.

“You’re too kind, all of you. Thank you,” Draco graciously allowed.

“Open ours first,” Thomas requested, handing the large box to Draco.

Taking the box and ruffling the boy’s hair (to his immediate indignant protest), Draco offered his thanks and began by removing the card that he found taped, in at least six different spots, to the top. Opening the envelope, he saw that the boys had handmade the card out of heavy yellow construction paper. The front read, “To our friend Draco” in Thomas’ careful round script. On the inside, he had written, “We wish you could stay, but good luck anyway.” At the bottom, it was signed, “With love from Thomas and Daryl.” The younger boy had neatly printed his own name beside his brother’s newly learned cursive signature.

Draco smiled at the boyish sentiment and said, “Thank you for the card. I’ll be sure to save it as a keepsake.” He turned back to opening the package, discovering that the boys had unquestionably wrapped it completely on their own, evidenced by what had to be a quarter of a roll of tape and oddly angled folds. He looked at their parents and winked his amusement at their sons’ valiant attempt at wrapping independence.

Finally making his way through to the box, Draco lifted the cover and laughed heartily. “Oh Merlin, this is perfect!” he told them, lifting each of the four t-shirts out of the box in turn, one to represent each of the four major sports teams for which the boys cheered. The Red Sox, Patriots, Celtics, and Bruins were all represented. “I will never forget all your great lessons on Muggle sports, and I promise I’ll wear these all the time. Thank you, boys,” he said, setting the shirts back inside the box and holding out his arms to draw each of the boys in for tight and lengthy hugs.

Kate smiled as she handed her package to Draco, and by the hefty weight, he knew that it contained a book. He returned her smile and opened the card that she had ticked under the ribbon. Rather than a commercial greeting card, it was a note from her personal stationery. It read:

“Dear Draco,

I know that you would say that our time together was of help to you and while I hope that is true, you should also know how much I appreciated your presence in my life, and in our family. Watching you learn and grow has been one of my greatest personal and professional joys. You are a wonderful and sensitive young man, and I hope nothing less for you than everything you want in life. You will do great things, and you have begun them already. Use the first item as a way to record your dreams, catalogue your triumphs, and release your stresses. You may want to wait until you’re alone to fully explore the second. ;)

With love,

Kate”

Draco cocked an eyebrow in question and saw Kate’s satisfied smirk in response. He opened the outer package to find two smaller wrapped items inside. The first book was a beautiful bound journal, engraved with his initials on the lower right corner of the black dragon-hide cover. Opening the book, he saw the note on the flyleaf identifying it as having never-ending pages. He gratefully acknowledged Kate’s explanation that the book was charmed to add a new page at the end for every page that was filled with writing.

“Thank you, Kate. This is fabulous. I know I’ll use it often,” Draco promised. Curiosity getting the better of him, he tore away enough of the wrapping from the second book to see a portion of its title, “Kama Su…” That was more than enough for him to know exactly what the tome contained, and he flushed pink to the tips of his ears.

“I hope you’ll use both of them often,” she suggested with a wink.

His voice came out with a bit of a squeak. “I’m sure I’ll make good use of both volumes, Kate. Thank you.” He rose from his seat to kiss her cheek and offer a hug. As he did, she whispered in his ear, “It’s the wizarding version. Moving images.” The strangled sound in his throat could have been him swallowing his tongue whole, but turned out to be nothing more than another futile attempt to express his gratitude. Returning to his chair, Draco tucked both books inside the box that also held the boys’ gift, hiding them from prying eyes. “Thank you, really. It’s perfect and entirely appropriate, especially coming from you,” he said.

“My turn,” David said then, handing Draco the small package that appeared to be about half the size of a wand box.

“Thank you, David,” Draco said, using the man’s given name for the first time. When his former therapist chuckled at his concession, Draco shrugged. “You’re not my Healer anymore.”

Draco remove the small folded piece of heavy-stock paper, about the size of a business card, from the box and read the note:

“Draco,

In keeping with my family tradition, I give you this memento of your significant and impressive accomplishments. I hope it will inspire your creativity, ingenuity, and passions in the way it has done for me.

With great affection and respect,

David”

Draco untied the velvet ribbon and removed the silver paper to reveal a black and gold box. Lifting the lid, Draco was stunned to find a beautiful black fountain pen, trimmed with gold accents and tipped with a six-sided white star – the trademark of fine Montblanc writing instruments – exactly like the one David had loaned to him for several weeks almost two and a half years earlier as an example of his trust. On the cap, the engraving read, “Draco A. Malfoy.”

Shaking his head slightly, he looked at David. “This isn’t…”

“No, it’s not the pen, but it is your pen. It’s the same type that my father gave to me when I graduated. I wanted you to have one of your own as a symbol of everything you’ve achieved. And every great man must have at least one great fountain pen in his collection. I hope you’ll use it for many years to come.”

Draco nodded mutely for a moment, turning the fine implement over in his hand, remembering the feel of perfect balance and the smooth flow of ink that he’d so enjoyed while borrowing David’s pen so many months earlier. “This is incredible. I don’t know how to thank you,” he finally whispered.

“Your health and effort are thanks enough,” David said, and he rose to meet Draco as he approached. The two men hugged tightly for a moment before Draco finally pulled away, just the tiniest bit self-conscious over his display of emotion.

“You’ve all been so kind to me, and I can never express how truly grateful I am for your wise counsel, your persistence in making me look at things I could have easily left buried, and your friendship. I know I’ve done some good work, but it couldn’t have happened without your guidance and your unwavering faith in me. When I leave for England tomorrow, I’ll be carrying some of each of you with me, and any success that I have, I will be able to point to your influence as its source. I don’t know what else I can say but thank you, from the bottom of my heart,” Draco said, meeting each member of the family with his sincere and open gaze.

The rest of the evening was passed with lighter moods and easy conversation until it was time for the boys to get ready for bed. Despite their protests requesting just another half hour, it was Draco who stepped up to suggest that, for old times’ sake, he would help the boys prepare to retire. He marched the pair to their bathroom for a quick wash-up and to their respective rooms to select pajamas. After helping Daryl, who still sometimes struggled with small buttons, Draco treated the boys to a bedtime story and a final round of goodbyes, resulting in watery eyes all around. Draco tucked each boy into bed, giving each a final kiss on the forehead, and lingering just a moment at each boy’s door before firmly shutting them. He steeled himself then for the final farewells he would make before travelling to the opposite side of the ocean.

Returning to the spacious family room, Draco found David and Kate sitting together on the sofa and talking quietly. They ceased their conversation when Draco entered, offering him another glass of wine. Although it was getting a bit late and he still had a few things to do before leaving early the next morning, Draco was not eager to leave. He accepted the libation and selected the comfortable armchair opposite the sofa.

“What are your travel plans, Draco?” Kate inquired.

“I’ll be leaving by International Portkey from the Logan departure point at about seven tomorrow morning,” he answered.

“Do you need a lift to the port, or will you travel by magical means?” David wondered.

“I’m not carrying much with me, so I’ll just Apparate. I need to shut down the Floo connection before I go, so that will be the quickest and easiest way to get there,” he detailed.

“Well, if your plans change, let me know. I can either drive you over, or you could use the Floo connection at the office, if it makes things easier,” David offered.

“Thanks, but I’ll be fine. I’ve been there a couple of times to meet my parents when they’ve visited, so I know where I’m going, and it’ll be early in the morning, so the office won’t be open yet,” he reasoned.

“And you think I wouldn’t open it up for you?” David teased.

“I’m sure you would, but if I travel by Floo to your office, I can’t seal it from the other side. This will be fine, honestly,” Draco reiterated. He wouldn’t admit aloud that he didn’t know if he could cope with saying another goodbye.

“Ah, true. I hadn’t thought of that. And Apparating all the way to the office is no different from heading into Logan for distance purposes,” David noted.

“Exactly. Thanks for the offer, though. I appreciate it,” Draco said.

“Have you spoken with your parents yet about your plans when you return?” Kate asked.

“No, I haven’t. In fact, I’m going to surprise them with my return. They don’t expect me until early next week, but I was granted a few days’ grace on my exile sentence. I haven’t said anything yet about my plans to buy a flat, either,” he noted. “I know they won’t be especially happy about that, but I’ve become accustomed to living on my own. As much as I love them and miss them, I think it’s important for me to maintain some independence as I transition to whatever my new life will hold. I’m sure we’ll visit often, but I really don’t want to move back into the Manor.”

Both Kate and David nodded in agreement. “I think it’s a good idea for you to live on your own. The last thing you need is to create a situation where new dependencies are built. You’ve made a good decision,” David affirmed.

“I think so, too. I’ll be twenty-five in a few months, and the last thing I want to do is to regress to old dynamics. This will be better for everyone,” Draco stated firmly.

“And the foundation?” David wondered.

“I’ll need to do some preliminary work, such as finding a location and setting up the legal entities, but I’ve got a good blueprint. I’ll also need to get some clarity on the trusts that I’ll be controlling so that I can decide how to fund the project. I know I’ll have more than enough to do whatever I need to, but I want to be smart about it so that the foundation has the greatest impact for the investment,” Draco outlined.

“Any other big developments?” David asked.

“Nothing earth-shattering, but I did talk to my mother about setting up a meeting with Hermione when I return, and I’ve heard back from her that Hermione has agreed to see me. I’m very much looking forward to that,” he confessed.

“That’s great news,” Kate said. “I hope it will go as smoothly as you deserve, and that it will just be the start of finding some peace on that score, regardless of the eventual outcome.”

Draco recognized her caution that it could be a start to just finding closure, but he wasn’t yet ready to give up. “I’m certainly hopeful, but I recognize that I need to be realistic, too,” Draco acknowledged. “As you’ve both taught me so well, I’ll take one step at a time. My mother indicated that Hermione was anxious to speak with me, too, so I’m eagerly anticipating what she might have to say. I won’t raise false hopes, but I choose to take it as a relatively positive development.”

“And I think I speak for both of us when I say that I dearly hope that’s how it turns out,” Kate responded.

At that moment, the grandfather clock in the corner chimed, marking ten o’clock. As much as he’d have liked to stay, Draco knew that he could not prolong the visit any longer. It was now quite late, and he did still have a few chores to complete before sleep could claim him, if it would. “I think that’s my cue,” he announced, rising from the chair.

Kate stood first and enveloped him in a hug. “Travel safely, and all the best for your meeting. I’m so glad you were able to spend this evening with us, and I’m looking forward to hearing from you as soon as you get settled,” she said, a clear admonishment that he’d best not forget to send a note or make a Floo-call very soon. She stepped away to allow David to take her place.

“This has been a very long time coming, Draco, but you are more than ready to move on to your new life. You’ve already astonished me with your resilience and perseverance; I can’t wait to see how you’ll astound us with what you do next. I expect frequent updates, and I hope you’ll come back to visit when you can. Be good to yourself, and remember that if you ever need anything, I’m only a Floo-call away,” David offered. With that, he hugged Draco for a final time and handed him the tote bag in which Kate had gathered their gifts for him to carry home.

“I won’t say goodbye, because I have every intention to see all of you again. Thank you for everything. I really do love you all like family.” With that final word, Draco waved his farewell and stepped through the Floo and toward his future.


	29. Anticipation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little frustration for Draco and Hermione, and a confrontation with a meddlesome father.

Lucius despised the idea of operating in the dark, but his son had figuratively shut out all the lights and stuffed him into the back of a cave, sealing it hermetically. Further, he had no idea whether Draco had communicated with Hermione about the decree, and if he had, to what detail he might have shared the potential outcomes and actions that it would precipitate. Worse, Narcissa’s slowly improving health ensured that she was now beginning to focus more of her attention on asking questions about the status of the decree’s full execution, questions that Lucius could not answer both for lack of information and by virtue of the oath he had been forced to swear. He hated to appear the fool, particularly in front of his wife, and he abhorred even more the idea that he had been outmaneuvered again, this time by his only son.

The proverbial icing on the cake was the fact that he had no option but to pretend that everything was well in hand when he had no idea if that was even close to the truth. He couldn’t risk distressing his wife now that she’d finally started to seem more like her old self, and he wouldn’t have the excuse of protecting her delicate recovery for much longer as a means of deflecting her many inquiries.

It had been three days since Draco had left his office with fury in his eyes and determination in the set of his jaw. Since then, both his son and Hermione had outwardly behaved as though nothing had changed, returning to the manor that night for dinner and taking up their usual schedules at work and in aiding Narcissa’s on-going therapy. There were tiny differences that he’d noticed, but only because he’d been looking for them, almost obsessively. The pair would disappear for brief periods, not obviously together, but too coincidentally to ignore as purely fortuitously timed. He was now leaning toward the assumption that there could have been some information shared with the young woman, but no concrete evidence on which to base any action. And for all his rage, Draco had been shockingly silent, treating his parents with his usual respect and affection. Since he couldn’t imagine any scenario in which his son was no longer livid about the way he had attempted to orchestrate the outcomes dictated by the decree, Lucius was understandably nervous about what the younger wizard, and potentially his brilliant love interest, might have concocted as response or retribution. The sub rosa agenda was driving him spare.

XXXXX

Draco was thankful that his fleetness of foot and natural grace allowed him to slip inside Louisa’s nursery unseen and unheard. His daughter was occupied elsewhere for at least another hour, as story time with his mother on the patio had just begun. Checking the time on his ever-present cellphone, he noted that it shouldn’t be more than five minutes before Hermione joined him. They had much to discuss and little time in which to do it; the relatively neutral ground of their daughter’s room seemed a slightly less obvious choice than either of their personal suites, and an option eminently preferable to any of the public spaces that could be entered by an unwelcome interloper at any time.

True to her promise, Hermione entered the suite right on time, turning to cast charms to prevent eavesdropping and unauthorized entry into the room. She greeted Draco with a hug and dropped wearily into the rocking chair that she still used to lull Louisa to sleep when she was particularly fractious or feeling poorly.

“You look beat,” Draco commented sympathetically. “Have you been getting any sleep?”

“I can always use more,” she replied. “You don’t seem to be faring much better.”

Draco folded his arms across his chest and grinned boyishly. “True, but we’re both in significantly better shape than my father. It’s been years since I’ve seen him so agitated.”

She chewed her lip contemplatively. “You don’t think we’re being too cruel…”

“Hell, no,” Draco replied. “We can’t let him get away with thinking he can play with our lives without paying the consequences. He’d find new reasons and opportunities to manipulate us for the rest of our days, no matter how good his intentions might seem, at least to him. I won’t be a pawn in his game, and I don’t want him to do that to you or Louisa, either.”

“I know; you’re right. It’s just that I can’t stand to see someone I care about looking so… forlorn,” she countered.

“He’ll get over it eventually. It’s not like this will go on forever, and in the meantime, he has to learn a lesson or two.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I can’t say that I exactly enjoy playing this game, but it’s the only thing he understands. Until we’re ready to fully respond, freezing him out buys us the time we need to complete the rest of our research.”

“And I agree that we can’t just let it pass without there being some repercussions. I’m just not as good an actor as you are, and I’m finding it very difficult to keep up the façade that I know nothing,” she responded.

“Well, once we’re confident that we fully understand all the ins and outs of this decree, we’ll be ready to end this fiasco and move on the way we decide. So, to that end, we should compare notes on what we’ve each discovered,” Draco suggested, perching on the heavy oak blanket chest at the foot of Louisa’s bed.

“I haven’t found any other concealment charms, but he is one crafty bugger, without a doubt,” Hermione granted.

Draco scoffed at her comment. “That’s putting it generously. I should have known that he’d find some angle to get around my demands. And that was one pretty significant clause that he chose to hide.”

“I know! Can you imagine if we’d…?” Hermione asked rhetorically.

Draco shook his head in commiseration. “To be manipulated like that is just unconscionable,” he agreed.

“And the way it’s worded, so archaically, makes it very challenging for us to determine exactly what’s uh, available to us and what would mean we’ve unwittingly been wedded.”

“Exactly,” Draco confirmed. “Damn it. That’s for us to decide, if we do get there. We’re adults and we should be able to make our own choices about our, uh, amorous behavior without fearing ramifications of that sort.”

“Here,” she said, “let’s read it through again and compare it to the legal document you got from the Wizengamot. It says, ‘Any Act of Congress entered by the couple after Consent to Marry has been granted and before a Dissolution Agreement shall be constituted a full consummation of the Marriage Decree, entered lawfully into the Banns upon the Wizengamot’s Family Register.’”

Draco looked green-skinned, not, of course, at the prospect of physical contact with Hermione, but at the idea of the devious and cruel machinations they were both suffering. “Okay. Let’s start with ‘Act of Congress,’” he began with a sigh. “The Wizengamot defines it as ‘a physical combining of male and female for purposes of procreation’ in its first listing. That’s fairly obvious in terms of what the ‘act’ constitutes, but how does intent color the picture? Is it still an ‘act of congress’ if there was a ‘combining,’ as they so delicately put it, but there was no intent to conceive?”

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. “Nothing in that document alludes specifically to intent, or even consent, that I’ve been able to find. Even the ancient laws on ‘Sanctioned and Prohibited Physical Practices’ are very muddy on the issue. And don’t even get me started on the whole idea of who should be sanctioning or prohibiting anything between consenting adults. It’s like these were written in the Dark Ages,” she complained, disgustedly.

Draco held out his hand to reach for the document she’d copied from the original at the Ministry’s library, inspecting it briefly before handing it back. “That’s because it was. See at the bottom? Authored by Arturo Rand in 1407.”

“Doesn’t the Ministry ever update any of this archaic crap? Ugh! Maybe I should have become a lawyer instead of a Healer,” she bemoaned.

That earned a snort in reply. “There are way too many of them around, I think. Look at all the trouble they cause,” he noted, waving his hand over the ridiculous stack of documents they’d been collecting, studying, and analyzing for the past two days.

“Okay, so we have no way to tell whether ‘intent to procreate’ or not has any significance. What else is in that document about the definition of congress?” she asked, determined to find anything that seemed concrete in either description or interpretation.

“Part two says, ‘Joining of male and female in ultimate intimacy.’ That’s no more helpful than the first bit,” he complained. “What the devil is ‘ultimate intimacy’ and who gets to define it, then? If you want to get technical about it, any act resulting in orgasm could be called ‘ultimate.’”

Hermione laughed bitterly. “And how about this? You notice that it only refers to male and female, but doesn’t that exclude gay and lesbian couples? I thought the wizarding world was much more accepting than that.”

“While that doesn’t obviously affect us directly, you’re right in your observation. It seems that while the wizarding world was more advanced in not placing the same sexual taboos on same-sex relationships, the Muggle world is now leaping far past us in allowing gay marriage in many countries. That’s still not legal here, so that may be why the definitions are worded that way,” Draco surmised.

“Well, regardless, it’s not right to exclude people,” Hermione stated with righteous finality. “And one other thing: How would anyone know whether we’d, uh, engaged in any ‘act of congress’ anyway?”

Draco pursed his lips in annoyance. “There are several ways to track activities and behaviors, but they’re typically limited to parents trying to keep control of their wayward teenage children, not of legal adults. They have, though, figured out a way to do it, as evidenced by the fact that they were able to track and record each of the three consent conditions being met. Usually, it would take blood magic, but I suppose it could be done with any physical sample from the parties involved,” he speculated.

“Like a lock of hair, maybe?” Hermione guessed.

“Certainly not as effective as blood, but yeah. It could work,” he agreed. “Damned irritating to think we’re being watched at that level.”

“Infuriating,” Hermione expanded.

“Yeah, on a good day,” Draco concurred.

“So how do we deal with this if we can’t get any straight answers?” she asked, hoping he’d have a better idea than the two, maybe three, possibilities she’d considered.

He expelled a long breath, and rubbed at his temples. “I see four possibilities, maybe five. First, we just do what we want to do, hang the consequences. Second, we stay away from each other, physically, until we make a final decision about which direction we choose to take with our relationship. Third, we experiment slowly and deliberately with that aspect, but staying short of, uh, full intimacy. Fourth, we consult Barrister Phillips to see if he knows anything more about the definitions that my father intended. I’m concerned about that, though, because he does work for Father, not for me. Thus, his loyalty would be in question. Finally, we ask Father to tell us exactly what it means. It’d have to be done under Oaths and Veritaserum, though, because at this point, I don’t trust him to be truthful with us. What are you thinking? Anything beyond those options?” he prompted.

“You actually had two more options than I did. I hadn’t thought about the lawyer who drew up the papers at all, and I hadn’t considered the final possibility for exactly the same reason you stated. It’s clear that he, or they, want us to marry, but I won’t allow anyone to force us into any kind of permanent relationship, regardless of the means to getting there, unless and until we decide what we want, together,” she reiterated.

“I just wish I understood more about why they’re so determined for that outcome,” he added with a sigh. He looked at her with more tenderness than his mood should have been able to engender. “I know that they know I have strong feelings for you, and perhaps they did it in a misguided attempt to secure my happiness. But they had to have realized that I could never be happy if I thought you had been coerced into having any kind of relationship with me, most of all something as irreversible as a wizarding marriage.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me to learn that was an element of their motivation, but my instincts tell me it was something with more layers than just that. The whole bit about ‘family association’ as one of the consent conditions leans toward them wanting me specifically to be part of the clan, and not simply as the convenient target of your affections,” she reasoned.

Draco stood and paced for a moment. “You know, you may be on to something there. There was so much going on at the time that I didn’t give it a lot of thought, but my father did tell me something a couple of months ago, when Mother was in the hospital. I recall thinking it was just his way of showing how much he appreciated all you’d done to help us over those first hours, but now, I’m reconsidering my interpretation.”

“What did he say?”

“He told me that you’d written a lovely note to them right after we were rescued but before I went to trial, and that Mother had commented about how perfectly suited we would be for each other, if the circumstances had been different,” he revealed.

“I do remember writing to them. It was definitely before I knew I was pregnant, and as you said, before your trial. I thanked them for all their help in bringing the war to a close and offered my mitigating testimony when your case came before the Wizengamot,” she recalled. “Could all of this have started that long ago?”

“Could and did. The original date on the document he gave me is June of that year,” he reminded her, sitting heavily again on the low blanket chest.

“So the foundation was likely a little old-fashioned marriage arrangement…” Hermione began.

“And the ante was upped exponentially when they learned you were carrying my baby,” Draco finished. “Gods, I’m so sorry that you got caught up in this.” He dropped his head into his hands and tugged in anxiety at his hair, the surest sign that his distress had reached a peak.

Moving to sit beside him on the chest, Hermione wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “You have nothing to be sorry for. And on an intellectual level, I can even understand and appreciate their motivation. Just think about it; they may not have been entirely wrong.”

He stopped his hair-mussing to peer at her closely. “What do you mean?”

“Well, as we’ve spent time together over the last few months, haven’t we reached the same conclusion?” she proposed. “Not specifically about marriage, yet, but certainly that we’re not ill-suited to think about a future together.”

“That’s one way to look at it, I suppose,” he allowed. “If they’d not done all of this so secretively, maybe we wouldn’t resent their interference so much.”

“Maybe, but the truth is that I wasn’t in a place to consider this even three or four months ago, and today, things are very, very different,” she replied, moving even closer on their shared perch. As had not been uncommon in the last couple of days, she initiated a kiss, demonstrating that any frustration and annoyance she was feeling over the situation was not directed at him.

Draco responded as enthusiastically as he always did, reveling in the feel of his lips against hers and the feel of her fingers replacing his own against his scalp. When he felt her nip playfully at this lower lip, he responded in kind, and soon they were soothing each other with gentle flicks. He felt an all-too-familiar tug in the pit of his stomach and reluctantly pulled away.

“We’d better…” he said hoarsely.

Resting her forehead against his and breathing just as raggedly as he was, Hermione agreed. “Yeah. We’ve been up here for a while, and they’ll be looking for us soon, I’m sure.”

He nodded his head against hers, eyes closed and arms still wrapped around her. “We need to get this settled, and soon.”

“No argument there. Maybe we can pop over to the townhouse for a bit after dinner. See if we can get any further in our analysis,” she suggested. The teasing quality of her tone, though, made him think she might have other things in mind.

“Wherever you go, I’ll follow,” he vowed. He finally kissed her very briefly and released her, just in time to hear his mother wondering aloud from the other side of the door why it wouldn’t release.

“Uh oh. We’re about to be busted,” he warned. “I’ll Apparate to my suite, and you can fudge something about the door getting stuck.”

“Go – I’ll see you downstairs in a few minutes,” she said, shooing him away while moving toward the doors. As he popped silently out of the room, she released the locking and silencing spells, allowing Narcissa and Louisa to enter. She greeted them brightly, mentioning something about a faulty catch that she’d get the house-elves to repair.

“I was looking for Louisa’s yellow dress, the one with the eyelet ruffles,” she excused, “but I just remembered that I sent it down to the laundry yesterday. Mustn’t have come back up yet.”

“I can call Nipsy to see if it’s been cleaned yet,” Narcissa offered.

“Oh, no. I could do that, too. The polka dot one will be just fine,” she said, taking the first one she found from inside the closet and gathering the toddler into her arms.

“Did you have fun with Mémère?” Hermione asked, hoping to engage her daughter in conversation before Narcissa would think to question the circumstances of having found her alone in a locked room.

“Yes, Mummy. We had a wonderful time!” the tot enthused, trying out the new word she’d added to her vocabulary in the last couple of weeks. She went on to prattle for several moments about what they’d done and how many stories they’d read throughout the afternoon. Hermione used the time to change the girl’s clothes, replacing her playthings with the dress she’d blindly chosen, and running a wide-tooth comb through her blonde curls to tame them into a pair of pigtails, secured by white silk ribbons.

Narcissa had been resting quietly, seated in the rocking chair that Hermione had abandoned some thirty minutes earlier. Although her health was much improved, she still tired easily. She watched the two younger witches without comment until Louisa was fully dressed for the dinner they’d all share in about twenty minutes. Rather than leaving to change her own clothing as she would typically do, she allowed the minutes to tick away until she finally, somewhat reluctantly, broke the silence that had reigned between her and Hermione.

“Dear, is everything all right?” she asked, the hesitation in her voice only partly due to the lingering effects of her injury. “You and Draco both seem… different over the last few days.”

Hermione had to force herself not to freeze in her tracks. She and Draco had anticipated that his mother might be observant enough – and curious enough about Draco’s reactions to Lucius’ revelations – that she might approach one of them about any perceived shifts in their demeanors. Sticking to their agreed-upon plan, Hermione smiled, but not too brightly, in response. “We’re both just fine, Narcissa. Draco’s been working through some minor issues in getting the restaurant up and running, and I’ve been helping him do a bit of research to resolve it. Everything is well under control, though,” she reassured.

“You’re sure that’s all?” Narcissa challenged, clearly fishing for information.

“Positive. Just some zoning issues that need to be cleared up,” she expounded.

Although she didn’t seem entirely convinced, Narcissa seemed to accept that nothing more would be forthcoming from Hermione, and she rose carefully from the rocker. “I’m glad, then, that he has you to help him,” she replied. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just go and get dressed for dinner. We’ll see you downstairs shortly.”

“Of course. I’ll be there momentarily,” she confirmed. As soon as Narcissa left the room, Hermione took her cellphone from her pocket and fired off a quick text message to Draco, hoping that he was still alone in his suite. “She asked. Used restrt/zoning story we agreed on.”

In less than a minute, she received his reply. “Perfect. I’ll mention at dinner to back u up.”

Her reply was immediate. “Thx. C u in a few.” She pocketed her phone again, thankful for the tool that allowed them such instant and private communication.

When the family reconvened for dinner on the patio a short time later, only Lucius seemed quieter than usual. The warm August evening meant that dinner was lighter fare of prawn salad, crusty bread, and cool drinks. While everyone else seemed to enjoy the meal, the senior Malfoy picked at the food on his plate, favoring the white sangria cocktail instead.

In keeping with his promise, and to facilitate their getaway for later in the evening, Draco turned to Hermione and said, “I meant to ask you earlier, but I got tied up with other things. Were you able to find the zoning documents I asked you to locate?”

Dabbing at her lips with the lemon yellow linen napkin, Hermione nodded. “Yes, I found two of the pieces you needed, but we really need to talk about the third one again. I’m having a devil of a time digging it up,” she fudged.

Lucius perked up at the mention of business ventures. “For what are you searching? I’m sure I could help you locate it,” he offered. “I have extensive documentation on business zoning requirements in the office.”

Glancing at Hermione for a fraction of a second, Draco turned to face his father. “Thank you for the offer, but we do have it well covered. Things are a bit different when you’re dealing with a charitable venture than a profit-based business, so your materials would not likely be pertinent to what I need. I do appreciate the thought, though.”

Turning back to Hermione, Draco said, “If you’ve got some time this evening, I’d appreciate your help, although it would mean heading over to the townhouse for a bit. I’ve got the rest of the notes there.” He seemed so apologetic for the “inconvenience” that Hermione almost believed it herself.

Calling upon the best of her acting skills, she pretended to consider his request. “Well, I think I could spare a bit of time for you, as long as we get Louisa put to bed first,” she suggested.

In a brazen attempt to curry favor with one or both of them, Lucius spoke up again. “I’d be delighted to look after Louisa for the evening if the two of you have work to do.” His emphasis on the word “work” was not lost on anyone.

“Thank you, Father. That will allow Hermione and me to accomplish our mission,” Draco accepted, not breaking the stare that he’d fixed on the man. He was satisfied to note that the elder man looked away first.

Draco and Hermione traded glances, both pleased that they’d been able to orchestrate their departure without unnecessary drama. Neither preferred feeling that they needed to sneak away, but meeting inside the manor was equally untenable. Whether through portraits that held greater loyalty to Lucius or the strong likelihood of eavesdropping charms in unexpected places, it was beyond doubt that there were not many places available to them where privacy could be guaranteed. And as they’d concluded from the start of this fiasco, meeting in either of their private suites would cause speculation that neither cared to invite.

That circumstance alone was beginning to sway Hermione’s decision toward making the move into the townhouse on a permanent basis. She didn’t doubt that Draco’s parents’ motivations weren’t explicitly nefarious, but they were devious in a way that had served to erode a fair amount of the trust that had been built among them in the three years they’d lived under the same roof. Regardless of how the relationship between her and Draco would play out, she wondered if the time to leave the manor had now truly come. The one big question remaining surrounded the idea of sharing the townhouse with Draco if they remained mere friends. When the thought arose, her heart quickly quashed the idea, telling her that, for better or worse, that would not likely be the case.

Once dinner was finished, Draco and Hermione both kissed Louisa goodnight and left her in the care of her grandparents. Taking a moment to retrieve the documents that each had tucked away with multiple privacy charms, the pair Apparated to the townhouse, eschewing the Floo for its unwanted heat on the still-warm summer night.

Draco appeared first, by a second or two, and began casting cooling charms throughout the house. When Hermione joined him, she turned to providing light, as the approaching dusk had already cast long, deep shadows. Those tasks done, Draco turned to face her and took her hands in his, tugging her closer. He bent to kiss her thoroughly, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her flush against him. He loved that her response was to knead his shoulders and arms as he savored the taste and feel of their mouths caressing each other. When he heard her utter a low moan of delight, he responded with a growl that started deep in his chest, and stepped even closer so that their legs were entwined where they stood. After a few moments of satisfying exploration, he felt Hermione pull away very slightly, keeping their bodies in contact but allowing them to look at each other without going cross-eyed. “You okay?” he asked.

She nodded and smiled happily. “As much as I’m enjoying this, though, we should probably spend some time working on deconstructing the decree. Maybe we could come back to this when we get a little more done,” she suggested hopefully.

“Is that a promise?” he teased, using his hands on her hips to tug her tightly to his own. While there was nothing there to cause humiliation or discomfort, it was clear that he wasn’t unhappy to be so close to her.

She laughed wickedly. “Is that a wand in your pocket, Mr. Malfoy?”

His eyes were bright with desire, and a bit of mischief as he nodded slowly. “And one of these days, I hope to use it to cast my spell on you.”

She tilted her head up to capture his lips in a brief but intense kiss. “And one of these days, I just might let you, but not until we figure out what all those stupid clauses mean and exactly what we’re going to do about it,” she replied, although she didn’t move from her position.

“So does that mean that the sooner we get that done, the sooner I can use my ‘wand,’ Ms. Granger?” he reasoned cheekily.

When she nodded and said, “At least it won’t hurt your case,” he immediately released her and grabbed the satchel containing the documents they planned to review.

“Then let’s get to work, woman!” He looked around for a moment, considering the best place to set out their project. “What do you think? The suite, the office, the dining room or the patio?” he offered.

“We’d have to use lighting charms out on the patio, so we should probably stay inside. The suite has two desks and the table, and the most comfortable seating. Is that all right with you?”

“Perfect. Why don’t you go get settled, and I’ll bring us up a bottle of wine. Red or white?” he asked.

“White, please,” she chose as she headed up the staircase.

When Draco rejoined her a few moments later, she had spread the documents over the three main surfaces in the room. He was forced to use a small plant stand to hold the bottle of wine and two goblets, as parchment covered the table and both desks. He poured a glass for each of them and handed one to Hermione. “So, what’s what?” he asked, waving his free hand over the array of paper.

“This is two copies of the original decree,” she said, indicating the table directly in front of the sofa. “The papers on your desk are the reference materials from the Ministry, and the stack on my desk is what I found either in the library at the manor or the one downstairs.”

“So, where do you think we should pick it up?” he asked.

“Since we didn’t come to any conclusions yet on that ‘Act of Congress’ bit, we should probably see if we can get any better sense of what that really means. It’s the one piece that could cause us to inadvertently bring about an actual change to our legal status. Everything else seems reasonably straightforward, for a document commissioned by a Slytherin,” she observed.

“Hey, I resemble that remark!” he needled, coming to sit beside her on the sofa. “But I do agree. It’s the biggest blind spot, and I want to be sure we’re making all of our decisions and taking actions with full knowledge of their benefits and consequences.”

“So, we know that there are two definitions associated with the clause, with the first referencing a male and female in the act of procreation and the second mentioning an ‘ultimate intimacy.’ The document itself provides no other definition or clarification of what the clause means, nor are there further descriptions in the Ministry’s material. The clause does definitively state that the completion of the ‘act,’ whatever it is, results in the full consummation of the marriage,” she summarized.

“Right. The two biggest questions are about whether intent to conceive must be present in the first instance and whether ‘ultimate intimacy’ means intercourse or possibly any sexual act that results in the ‘ultimate’ state, which I’d tend to interpret as orgasm,” Draco recapped.

Hermione looked at him quizzically. “Huh? Wait a minute. Let me think about that for a second.” She stood up and started pacing the room, wine glass in hand. Abruptly, she stopped and turned to face him.

“I think that actually answers the question about intent in the fact that there are two definitions. The first refers specifically to intercourse for the purpose of conception, and the second refers to intercourse for consummation, regardless of other underlying intent. It covers the loophole in the first section of the clause,” she said with a groan, resuming her place beside him.

He nodded slowly and considered what she’d concluded. “It does sound reasonable as an interpretation of the two definitions. I’d like to find evidence to support it, but absent that, it’s a good starting assumption,” he agreed.

“The only other documents I’ve been able to locate to find definitions for these kinds of topics are these four books on marriage rites that I found in one of the two libraries. I know it’s relatively unlikely that he’d remove anything from here, but to be honest, I’m surprised that your father didn’t think to remove them from his library,” she noted.

“That is a bit surprising,” Draco agreed, “but it could be that he left them there because they don’t provide anything useful to our search.”

“Oh, good point,” she said with a wince. “Well, it can’t hurt to review them a little more closely. Only one of them is written in relatively modern English, though. These two are in French,” she lifted the thin, very old volumes, “and the last one is in Latin. You’re a little more fluent in French than I am, so I was hoping you’d be able to translate them more quickly than I could. I can work on the Latin one after I get through the newer one.”

“Okay. I can probably plow through those fairly quickly. They’re not very thick books,” he suggested.

An hour and a half later, both of them were bleary-eyed from reading small, fading, and arcane text, but had very little to show for it. They took a few minutes to compare notes.

Draco tossed one book aside, saying, “This one was worthless. It only covered wedding customs, focusing on how to conduct the actual ceremony. And this one had a small section on marriage contracts, but it detailed how to incorporate dowries and property transfers. There were a couple of pages referring to the consummation of the marriage, but only in the context of the full execution of the terms of the financial contract. A bust, overall.”

“This one wasn’t much better,” Hermione commiserated, rolling her neck against the stiffness that had developed there and in her shoulders. Seeing her discomfort, Draco made a twirling motion with his finger, indicating that she should turn her back toward him. He began to knead the knots from her neck as she spoke. “Oh, that feels awesome. Uh, anyway, this one had some information on how and why marriage contracts should be used, but very little detail on the specifics of the clauses. There was nothing about consent decrees and no mention of ‘acts of congress.’”

Draco pressed his thumbs along the top of Hermione’s spine as she dropped her head forward. “We’ve only got the Latin one left,” he observed. “I don’t know about you, but my eyes and my brain have about had it for today.”

“Your hands are so strong. Where did you learn to do that? And yeah, my brain is pretty fried, too,” she acknowledged.

He chuckled at her comment. “I learned it from my mother’s physical therapist, as you probably observed thirty or a hundred times, missy,” he reminded her. “Maybe our brains truly have had all they can stand.”

“You won’t get an argument from me, especially if you keep doing that,” she replied with a groan.

“Like this?” he asked, then moved his hands lower on her spine, allowing room for him to lean in and kiss the base of her neck.

“Mmm. Just like that,” she whispered, stretching into his touch.

Draco kept up his soothing massage while he trailed more kisses, nips, and flicks against the back of Hermione’s neck. “And like this?” he mumbled into her skin.

“Oooh, that too,” she murmured, her eyes drifting closed and another groan escaping. “My knots and your fingers are perfect together,” she added with a husky chuckle.

“I think there may be more than just knots and fingers that work well,” Draco opined.

She twisted slightly to face him and smiled. “We do work well together, don’t we?”

“In quite a lot of ways,” he added, wrapping his arms fully around her middle and tugging her closer. “You, love, are a force to be reckoned with, but I feel like we are unbeatable together.”

“We will make this situation into what we want it to be, right?” she asked, seeking reassurance as much as making a statement about their formidable partnership.

“On our own terms, yes,” he confirmed. “Even if that were to mean going through the dissolution process and getting together months later. If that’s what’s right for us, that’s what we’ll do.”

Turning to face him fully, Hermione asked, “Would you really go through all that? If we’re getting even closer by then?”

“It wouldn’t be my first choice, but if that’s what you needed and wanted, yeah, I would,” he said firmly.

“I’m not sure it would be worth all that legal hassle just to make a point to your father,” Hermione wavered.

“That’s only a small part of it. Sure, I’d like to teach him a bigger lesson, but I also don’t want us to rush into our relationship based on an arbitrary timeline. Both of us deserve to find our way in our own time.” He stretched his legs along the sofa and pulled her beside him, allowing her back to rest against his chest.

“I know, and I completely agree on that point. But say in three months from now, we feel we’re ninety percent of the way to deciding we want something more, um, permanent. That only leaves three weeks of leeway to make a decision. Would we make the leap of faith, or would we wait, in part to deny the victory to your father?” she wondered.

“Hermione, love, you think entirely too much sometimes. We do still have some time, and if we both conclude that we’re heading in that direction, we can weigh all the factors closer to the deadline and make other plans or decisions that fit the circumstances. I admit that the situation has me concerned, but I’m willing to allow us a little bit of breathing time to let things develop, as you said a few days ago, organically. As thrilled as I am over the prospect, I don’t want to push or pressure you to move at a faster pace than you’re comfortable with.”

“This is just, argh, I don’t even know what to call it. When have you ever known me to be at a loss for words?” she asked. “All at once, I’m feeling annoyed, frustrated, angry, excited, happy, eager, confused, betrayed, determined, and with the way you’re stroking my ribcage, a little turned on.” She slapped at his hand halfheartedly. “If you don’t cut that out, I can’t promise what my reaction will be.”

“And if I do stop?” he challenged.

“I’d probably be even more annoyed,” she answered with a chuckle. “I think part of the issue for both of us – the proverbial elephant in the room – is that we’re quite physically attracted to each other and feeling more than a little randy. Saying it’s been a while for each of us is a ridiculous understatement.”

“There’s more than a little truth in that, but as eager as I am to get more physical with you, I don’t want to risk doing that at the expense of unintended consequences,” he admitted. “We’ve pretty much concluded that, uh, intercourse is off the table unless we’ve decided to seal the whole deal, and there’s still the possibility that the definition of ‘ultimate intimacy’ is not what we’ve interpreted it to be. For me, none of those distinctions really matter; I’d commit to you right this minute. But it’s utterly ludicrous and unfair of me to think you’re ready to make that leap yet.”

When Hermione answered, her voice was barely audible. “It may well be my libido talking, but I’m probably not quite as far apart from you as you seem to think,” she admitted.

Draco laughed shortly. “Don’t you be tempting me, witch. I may have the patience of a saint, as the saying goes, but even saints must have their limits.” He bent his head and captured her earlobe between his teeth, nibbling gently for a second or two.

“And don’t you be finding all of my most sensitive erogenous zones within two days of our first kiss!” she protested feebly.

He shrugged and chuckled. “What can I say? Either I’m a natural, or we were made for each other.” He dropped his voice an octave and to a whisper. “I’d like to think it’s the latter.”

“Then we’re either in for a ton of frustration or an awful lot of really hot sex,” she retorted, breaking into a giggle.

“Can I vote for the latter again?” Draco requested, planting an open-mouthed kiss against the side of her neck.

“Ohhh, you’re not playing fair!” she protested, shivering pleasantly.

“I thought they said everything was fair in love and war,” he returned.

“Yeah, when there are multiple angles of attack open to you,” she replied. “When you’re stuck with very limited options, it borders on cruelty.” Although her words were weighty, the delivery of them was full of teasing humor.

Behind her, Draco shifted his position so that he was sitting up a little straighter and cleared his throat pointedly. “Sorry. I’m not deliberately trying to aim my, uh, wand at your backside, but all this chatter and kissing is having an effect,” he disclosed.

Hermione moved with the intent of putting a little space between them. “No, I’m sorry. I don’t want to tease; that’s not fair, either.” He thought she sounded as miserable as he felt over the limits they’d have to respect.

“No worries. I’m fine, seriously,” he said, tugging her back and kissing the crown of her head. “We’ll just have to find ways to cope, either together or, uh, alone until we find a definitive answer.” When she turned and cocked an eyebrow at his implication, he winked, cheeks just slightly flushed pink with his combination of arousal and awkwardness.

“Whatever that ‘coping’ looks like, it appears that one or both of us is in need of it rather urgently,” she teased. Her expression quickly turned serious and determined. “I think we have no choice but to find a way to insist that Lucius tells us everything he possibly can about that clause, using every magical means at our disposal. I’m sure he’ll be caught off guard by the fact that we’ve discovered the hidden piece, so that may work to our advantage. And, truth be told, I’m not eager to need to tackle that Latin reference book if I don’t have to. It’s not even what we'd consider modern Latin; it’s probably twelfth century or earlier.”

“I don’t disagree that he needs to be confronted on that, but I wouldn’t be surprised if his churlish behavior over the last couple of days means that he does know what we’ve found. He’s made the mistake of underestimating you before, so I imagine it’s one he’d not be eager to repeat,” Draco guessed.

“That’s certainly a scenario we should be prepared to address,” she agreed. “How do you think you’d approach it differently, with that as an assumption?”

“I’m not completely sure, to be honest. I have to give it a little thought,” he allowed. “One thing I do feel strongly about, though, is that, whatever angle we decide to use, I need to do it alone. I’m in total agreement with your initial plan that he shouldn’t have any direct knowledge that you and I are working hand in glove on this. He can assume anything he likes, but I want him to stay off balance with regard to any concrete information about the status of our relationship.”

“Of course, I trust you to handle the details. I think Lucius is sufficiently worried about your wrath that he won’t fight your demands,” Hermione said, hoping that her supposition would prove true.

“I’ll sleep on it and let you know what I’ve decided in the morning,” he offered, but there was distraction in his voice. Although he tried not to show it, he was beginning to get uncomfortable. Their close proximity, gentle petting and intimate conversation had ensured that Draco’s arousal had not abated. An ache that was likely to become more than unpleasant rather soon was starting to build, and he felt himself grimace involuntarily. His wish that she wouldn’t notice was not fulfilled.

“Are you okay?” she prodded, a moue of concern pursing her lips.

“Uh, yeah,” he said unconvincingly, drawing up one of his knees to try to relieve some of the pent-up pressure.

“No, you’re not,” she rebutted, glancing without embarrassment at his crotch. “Gods, I’m such an idiot. You’ve left it too long, haven’t you?” she challenged.

“Maybe, but I think it’ll be fine,” he deflected.

She stood up from the sofa and extended her hand to him, encouraging him to rise with her. When he complied, she intertwined the fingers of one hand with his and wrapped the other arm around his waist, pulling him close. “Draco Malfoy, let’s get something straight,” she said, speaking quickly and with precise, clipped diction. “I am a physician, and there is nothing prudish or timid about me, despite my recent sexual dry spell, so you are not allowed to use any excuses of modesty or humiliation to put yourself into a painful situation. Don’t forget – you’ve shared your history with me and I won’t be party to you having to repeat it.”

He opened his mouth to protest that he’d be fine, but the spontaneous groan that escaped when his erection came into contact with her pelvis put the lie to anything he could have said. “I didn’t want to end our time together, and until we know exactly what the contract implications are, I won’t put your status or your freedom in jeopardy,” he said to justify his stubbornness. The strain in his voice, however, was evident.

Hermione leaned forward so that she could whisper directly into his ear, increasing the intimacy of the moment, then released his hand. “I’m going to leave in a minute, and you’re going to turn around and go into your bedroom. Then, you’re going to remove your clothes and climb into bed. When you wrap your hand around your cock, it’s my fingers you’re going to feel stroking you until you come. In my bed in a few minutes, I’ll feel your fingers doing the same for me. If you listen really, really well, you’ll hear me call your name when my orgasm hits, all the way from the manor.” She stopped talking then, and kissed him deeply, ending it only after she’d stunned him by grasping his erection over his clothing and running her hand firmly along its length. “Now go,” she whispered once more, releasing him and disappearing faster than he could have thought possible in a pop of Apparition.

He was suddenly alone and more aroused than he could remember being in years. If someone were there to witness the moment, they’d have to call him gobsmacked. What she’d said and done had nearly put him over the edge right then and there. The pressure was building so dramatically that he had to open his fly immediately to relieve some of the ache. Following Hermione’s orders (and oh, what a turn-on that was), he moved as swiftly as his uncomfortable state allowed, stripping off pieces of clothing along the way. By the time he reached his bed, his trousers and pants were tangling around his ankles, and he fell backwards onto the mattress to kick them off.

He scooted back just enough to ensure that he was fully on the bed and pulled a pillow under his head with one hand while the other had already found its home around his shaft. Between Hermione’s titillating words and the extended time that he’d been at full arousal, this would not be one of his more leisurely sessions. As much as his imagination saw Hermione’s face and wanted to relish the idea of her touch – gods, how that challenge had made him shake with need – he truly had left it just a bit too long. If he didn’t get his release quickly, he’d regret it with a nagging pain for half the night. He tightened his grip and increased his speed, using the heel of his other hand to rub the dull throb in the sensitive area between his navel and pubic bone. Then, he remembered what she’d said about what she would be doing. The thought and imagined picture of her exploring her quim with him in her own mind’s eye was more than enough to send him over. In a parallel to her promise, he shouted her name as his seed spilled over his stomach, spots flashing behind his eyes and his breath coming in gasps that expanded his chest as though he’d just finished a foot race. It was all overwhelming, and he quickly succumbed to exhausted and sated sleep.

Many miles away, Hermione had Apparated into the main foyer, knees shaking slightly and stomach in a jumble. While she had wanted more than anything to stay, the high level of sexual tension and frustration they were both feeling had made the situation volatile. Draco had been right; they couldn’t attempt much in the realm of physicality until they were certain of the ramifications. She was just a little surprised to acknowledge that there was a very tiny part of her that was ready to take a physical leap with the man no matter what might result. The attraction between them had, somehow, exploded exponentially in the last few weeks.

She had also thought it unwise to stay at the townhouse because of how that might be interpreted by Lucius. She was nearly certain that Draco would concur with her conclusion. By Apparating into the foyer rather than directly into her suite, she ensured that her arrival would be noticed. She made a point of seeking out Lucius to check on how Louisa had behaved during the evening, and to say goodnight.

“Any issues or problems with my little one?” Hermione asked as she peered into Lucius’ study.

“You’re back!” he replied, clearly astonished to see her.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” she asked as innocently as she could manage.

“It just seemed that the two of you had quite a lot to do, so I assumed that you’d probably stay overnight,” he offered as a plausible reason for his doubt.

“We got quite a lot done, but I was rather knackered, so Draco suggested that I come back to get some rest,” she said, doing her best to maintain her guileless expression.

“He did not return with you?” Lucius asked.

“No, he had something else that he said he wanted to do. He did mention that he’d probably sleep there tonight,” she added, reasonably sure that he’d, in fact, do what he needed to and then fall into relatively idyllic sleep. She was counting the seconds until she, too, could retire to some privacy.

“So, no problems?” she prompted again.

“Oh, no. Not a one. She fell asleep after one story and we haven’t heard a peep since,” he related.

“Good. I’m glad she didn’t misbehave. She’s had more than her share of ‘terrible two’ moments lately, and I know she can be difficult on the few occasions when I’ve not been around for her bedtime routine. Has Narcissa retired?” she inquired.

“Yes, about a half hour ago. She overdid it a bit today, so she went to bed a bit early,” he noted.

“I’m glad she’s resting, then. In fact, it’s been a very long day for me, too, so I’ll say goodnight. Thank you again for looking after Louisa,” she said, turning to leave before he could delay her further. She heard him call out his own wishes for pleasant dreams as she neared the staircase.

Making her way up the steps hastily, Hermione peeked into Louisa’s room and found that the tot was fast asleep, as expected. She retreated, closing the door quietly and entering her own suite across the hall. She warded the door against entry and put up a one-way silencing charm. Because the room was on the east side of the massive home, it was comfortably temperate in the evening, and she didn’t bother to cast a cooling charm.

She lit only a small lamp on her bedside table and began peeling off her clothes, dropping them onto the back of an armchair. She’d deal with them in the morning. While Draco’s need had been a bit more obvious and urgent, she’d have been lying if she denied that her body was desperately craving physical release. Since the frank conversation she and Draco had had a few days earlier, her level of tension had been rising. She had been honest with him in saying that her own physical needs had often taken a back seat to the daily requirements of life. It wasn’t a case of having a low sex drive so much as it was that the numerous and pressing other demands on her time and attention forced their way into her consciousness more urgently.

Every couple of weeks, though, the need to feel that weightless sense of bliss would make its appearance, and she would make the time to take care of that insistent itch, sometimes with a delicate hand, and less often, with the pliant purple penis-shaped vibrator that Luna Potter had bought for her about two years earlier. She’d been deadly serious when she’d presented the wrapped package to Hermione, telling her that she needed a healthy and readily available way to relieve her tension and stress, both sexual and mental. The toy had proved to be significantly more satisfying than she’d expected, and filled a need that she’d sublimated for several months after Louisa’s birth.

This was indubitably one of those nights when Hermione needed sweet release, but she admitted to herself that it was the first time in as long as she could recall that there was a very specific man who had contributed to creating the tension. For the past couple of years, there was no face to her phantom fantasy lover, just the need to feel. The dynamic was dramatically different within her psyche when she acknowledged that her need was for this fit, handsome blond who was rapidly finding his way into every part of her life.

Like Draco, she was now physically frantic to the point that she almost didn’t know what to do with herself. She was standing naked in the middle of a nearly dark room, her core wet with arousal and her pulse already racing in anticipation. “Damn you, Lucius Malfoy,” she whispered into the room, deeply distressed by the thought that this man whom she had trusted so fully had created a situation that was making the outcome he’d sought less likely to occur. The irony was astounding, but it didn’t solve her problem.

She pulled the coverlet from her bed, leaving behind just the creamy white silk sheets. Slipping into the bed, she shuddered at the feel of the cool, smooth fabric against her bare skin. She trailed her hands lightly over her breasts, breathless as her fingers teased her sensitive nipples to stiffness. She brought her index finger to her mouth and sucked it in, allowing herself to imagine for a second what it might be like to feel the skin of Draco’s erection on her tongue. With the moisture on her finger, she teased a nipple again, shivering at the intense sensation. She kneaded both breasts, wishing that Draco had been bold enough to do more than barely graze the swells above her ribcage. She knew he’d wanted to touch her; his thumbs had rubbed and circled, over and over, from just under her bra line to the top of her hip bones. It was clear that he’d been exercising a great deal of restraint.

Now, though, her own hands had to be substitutes for his. She wondered if he’d be gentle, or assertive, or a little of both when he handled her. As her hands moved down along her ribs, Hermione imagined how Draco’s bare chest would feel. She’d seen his lean and defined shape, and had had the distinct pleasure of exploring the muscles of his neck and back when she’d tended to his aches after a strenuous session of broom flight a few months earlier. She wondered whether he would like to feel her touch on his chest, brushing his nipples, teasing them with her nails, as much as she wondered about the feeling of his hands on her.

Her fingers stroked further along her sides to her hips. After giving birth, she was slightly rounder in her waist and tummy than she’d been before, something for which she was grateful. The stress of the war had made her far too thin and waif-like, and she was happy to have filled out a few curves after bringing Louisa into the world. She’d noticed more than a few times that Draco had looked in appreciation at her shape and he often complimented how lovely she looked, regardless of what she wore. The undeniable evidence of his arousal when he’d seen her in a bathing suit, and earlier this evening as he’d run his hands gently over her arms and torso told her that he was definitely attracted to her. She wondered how he would have reacted to the sight of her at eight or nine months pregnant, and thought she knew him well enough to guess that he’d enjoy lovingly stroking her belly and placing gently kisses in his fingers’ wake.

She raised a knee, much like Draco had done earlier to relieve the pressure in his groin, but the act opened her pelvis and caused the silk of the sheets to gather against her folds. Once again, she shuddered in response to the unintentional stimulus. For a moment, she thought she could understand a little of what Draco might have felt when his stiffened length brushed within his clothing against the cradle of her hips. For her, the feel of his excitement had been exhilarating. It was evidence that his professed desire was genuine. She wished she could have given him the proof that she, too, was not unaffected by their closeness, both physical and emotional.

Her fingers then moved still lower, into her neatly trimmed curls. She hoped that he liked a woman in her more natural state than shaven. There was something that smacked of pedophilia to her when a grown man couldn’t accept the mature look of a woman’s pubis. She wondered if his own curls were as blond as his hair, or slightly darker like the sandier shade of his eyebrows, beard, and lashes. She hummed in amusement as she imagined that the texture was as silky as the locks that her fingers had caressed less than an hour earlier.

When she finally dipped a finger into her slit, she found an abundance of slickness. Her labia felt swollen and full, and the cool silk brushing against her skin added sensation to the gentle probing of her fingers. As she’d promised him, she imagined that the fingers exploring, touching, stroking were Draco’s; that he changed speed and pressure and motion in response to the buck of her hips and the gasps from her throat; that he found the exact, perfect spots inside her and at the top of her slit that made her tremble with need and shiver in pleasure; that took her over the edge to sweet oblivion and kept a firm hold until she finally returned to awareness of the space around her, whispering his name and wishing desperately for the feel of his body beside hers. Only the knowledge that he was feeling the same ecstasy and the same sense of something missing ensured that the disappointment she felt was fleeting. She turned to her side, drawing down an extra pillow to hug, and allowed sleep to claim her.

XXXXX

Draco awakened the next morning to bright sunlight streaming in through the tall windows in his bedroom. He stretched languidly and yawned loudly, then kicked off the sheet that had become tangled in his legs. The room had become a bit warm and stuffy overnight and he desperately needed a shower. He wanted to get back to the manor to have a quick conversation with Hermione prior to confronting his father once again, so he needed to be quick about it.

He stumbled out of bed and to the bathroom, reaching into the shower to set it at a tepid level. Ensuring that he had a towel in easy reach, he stepped in and soaped up, washing away the evidence of last night’s desperation from his chest and stomach. He rolled his eyes as he noted that his morning erection seemed to have no intention of going away on its own. Leaning one hand against the tiled wall of the shower and allowing his head to be fully engulfed by the pounding spray, he quickly took care of himself, releasing with a grunt on slightly shaky legs. Taking a few seconds to allow his breathing and heart rate to return to normal, he finished washing efficiently, shutting off the water and reaching for his towel.

Ten minutes later, he had shaved, brushed his teeth, and selected clothing for the day. He dressed and gathered his copy of the Consent Decree, leaving all of the other materials behind in the sitting room. To be on the safe side, he took a moment to ward the door so that only he or Hermione could enter. He took another moment to send a text message to Hermione to warn her of his impending arrival, requesting a brief rendezvous so that they could speak privately before joining the family for breakfast in the solarium. They agreed to meet in Louisa’s room, as they’d done the day before. Less than two minutes later, he had arrived via Apparition in the manor’s main foyer, and he quickly ascended the stairs to arrive at his daughter’s door just as Hermione emerged from her suite. They exchanged a meaningful look, but didn’t say anything until both of them were safely inside the more private space where their daughter slept.

“Hi,” she said first, sounding a little breathless.

“Hi, yourself,” he replied, stepping close and capturing her mouth in a passionate kiss, burying his hands in her curls as he tugged her head to meet him.

“Mwah!”

They separated a bit sheepishly, apparently having forgotten to determine that the tot was actually still sleeping. She was kissing the palm of her hand repeatedly and throwing them to the room. “Papa kiss Mummy,” she said happily.

“Uh oh,” Draco muttered under his breath, clearly worried that his little girl would unwittingly rat them out.

“Yes, baby, and Papa will kiss you, too,” Hermione attempted as a diversion. Draco seemed to understand the method to her madness and quickly moved to pull Louisa into a big hug, bestowing kisses all over her face as Hermione often did. He looked at her over Louisa’s shoulder and shrugged his shoulders in amused consternation at their careless behavior.

Putting the toddler back down on her bed for a moment with the promise that he’d help her get dressed in a moment, Draco turned back toward Hermione.

“Did you sleep well?” she inquired.

“Only one thing missing that could have made it better,” he replied, cocking his eyebrow for emphasis.

“Same here,” she concurred, feeling a hint of warmth in her cheeks. “The rest of that conversation will have to wait, I’m afraid.” She tilted her head slightly toward their daughter and Draco chuckled deeply.

“Oh, yes. No doubt about that,” he said, the smirk still playing over his lips. “We do have more urgent things to discuss, and very little time.”

She nodded in agreement and urged him to continue with her gesture.

“So, here’s what I’m thinking…”

XXXXX

After a perfectly typical breakfast, sharing plans for the day, and cleaning a stubborn clump of oatmeal out of Louisa’s hair, Draco rose from his seat at the table and turned toward Lucius.

“Father, I’d like a moment of your time before I get on with the rest of my day,” he pronounced, leaving the room without waiting for the man’s reply. For the moment, at least, Draco held at least as many cards as the elder wizard and he fully expected that he would follow.

He didn’t have to wait even five seconds for Lucius to meet him at the door to his private study. Standing aside to allow him to enter, Draco noticed that, while he had complied with his strong request, there was evidence in the set of his jaw of Lucius’ usual defiance in the face of a challenge. This time, however, he could not afford to allow him a victory; his future – and Hermione’s – was at stake.

His father had apparently been thinking both strategically and tactically as they settled into the room that had been his domain for more than two decades. Rather than taking his typical position of power and authority behind his oversized desk, he chose one of the leather armchairs in the sitting area, offering its mate to Draco.

“Would you like more coffee or tea?” he offered, indicating the full service that the house-elves maintained for constant availability on the credenza.

“Thank you, Father. I’m fine.” Draco sat, crossing one leg over the other and resting his folded hands on his knee. In keeping with their decision to conceal Hermione’s knowledge and involvement, Draco claimed responsibility for what they had discovered. “In completing a little due diligence on the document that you shared with me, I found a clause that you failed to disclose. In fact, it was deliberately hidden under a charm. As you can imagine, I’m not happy with this additional attempt at subterfuge and manipulation,” he said, his tone carefully modulated to express disappointment as much as anger.

As an additional strategic maneuver, Draco deliberately failed to share any details about the nature of what he’d found, in the hopes that Lucius would either confirm that there was nothing else to uncover, or in the worst case, reveal something that they had missed. He held his breath for a moment as he awaited his father’s response, hoping for several reasons that he’d find the former possibility to be true.

Troublingly, his father was still silent, steepling his fingers at his lips while his elbows rested on the arms of the chair. The fact that he had to consider a reply was not reassuring. In this game of emotional chicken, Draco would not – and could not afford to – lose. He would hold his ground, remaining silent and passively challenging until he received an answer.

Finally, Lucius cleared his throat. “My apologies, son. Failing to reveal that element was purely an oversight, I assure you.”

Draco was disappointed on two fronts: first, his father had not yet revealed the nature of the clause, leaving the question of additional concealments open, and second, he was sorry to say that he did not believe in the man’s honesty, especially on that particular point. That was as heartbreaking as any element of this situation could be.

“Forgive my skepticism, Father, but I’ll require a bit more than that to have confidence in your assertion. There are some elements of the clause that will require clarification from you, and to ensure your full and forthright disclosure, I’m afraid that I must insist that you either consent to an Unbreakable Vow or a dose of Veritaserum,” he requested, attempting with marginal success to keep the shadow of grief from his voice. “I’ll allow you to choose which, but before you do, please know that I will be using an improved version of the potion for which you will not have immunity, and that has no counteracting agent yet developed.”

Lucius’ eyes widened, although Draco could not determine with certainty whether there was surprise, distress, or grudging respect in the expression. Finally, he nodded his head in acquiescence, or possibly defeat. “As you wish,” he said quietly, “although I think that the serum is my preferred choice. I do not wish to risk death should I misspeak or fail to recall something with full accuracy.”

Draco sharply nodded once and withdrew the small crystal vial from the inside pocket of his suit coat. “Shall I prepare it in your coffee?” he asked, and received a response in the form of a grunt that he chose to interpret as affirmative. Rising from the chair, he retrieved a delicate bone china cup and saucer from the credenza and poured the strong black coffee that his father preferred. He added the recommended dosage of three drops, enough to ensure a little over an hour of truthful, unvarnished discourse.

Handing the cup to his father, Draco looked into the man’s eyes and said, “I’m sorry that it’s come to this, Father, but you’ve left me no choice. I will protect my relationships with Hermione and Louisa above all else, even if it were to mean walking away from them. What you’ve tried to do has jeopardized the choices that should be ours to make, and I vowed three years ago that I would never again allow my life to be managed or dictated by someone else. I understand that you believe you were doing what you thought I would want, but you badly miscalculated how I would feel about your methodology, if not the ultimate goal. Now, I will use every tool at my disposal to ensure that only I and whomever I will share my life with will make our own choices and decisions about out futures, to the extent that is possible with the binds you’ve attached to us. While you may think you have tied my hands, you fail to comprehend just how far I am willing to go to secure what is right for me and for Hermione, whether together or separately. So, please, drink,” he ordered, tilting his head toward the cup that his father still held.

Lucius accepted the tactical defeat with as much dignity as he could muster, drinking the brew as quickly as its heat would allow. When the cup was empty, he gently placed it upon the small mahogany table between the two chairs, allowing Draco to see that he’d consumed the entire dose.

“As I’m sure you can imagine, I have many questions, so let’s begin without delay,” Draco said briskly. “First, why did you have this decree created?”

Draco watched for a moment as his father’s jaw worked back and forth before he finally began to speak. “For three reasons, primarily. First, your mother and I were so enamored of Hermione, not just for what she did for our family, but also for her courageous and pivotal role during the war, that we were determined that she would be a perfect addition to our family, and when we discovered that she was carrying your heir, we became that much more adamant that we would not lose her, even in light of the circumstances of the child’s conception. There was ample evidence that her forgiveness would allow a bond to be built. The pregnancy, thus, was the second factor. The final reason was that you clearly had very strong feelings for her, and we wanted to ensure your happiness.”

“So we all loved Hermione and she was carrying the next Malfoy heir,” he summarized sardonically. “Did you ever stop to consider how she would feel about being involuntarily tied to me, or to us, for all her natural life?”

“Yes, we did. That’s why we used active conditions to provide the basis for consent. We felt that the three we selected would not be likely to occur randomly or by pure happenstance. They were rather deliberate and specific in nature,” he rationalized. “The charms read intent as much as action, and would not have triggered as complete if she had not had affirming emotion behind them.”

Draco wasn’t entirely convinced, but he was confident enough in the quality of the potion he’d used that he had to believe the general storyline. At the very least, he could have reasonable surety that his father believed that was he was saying was true and accurate. There was much more ground to cover, though, so he couldn’t dwell on each piece of information or revelation. He’d go back later, using a Pensieve to help him with detail if necessary. He also reflected that the magical device would be an effective way to share the entire exchange with Hermione, as she’d done with him to allow him to experience moments of Louisa’s early life. The likelihood that she’d catch something that he might have missed was fairly high, too. Now, though, he needed to get this interrogation back on track.

“Explain again why you concealed the clause under a charm,” Draco demanded.

Lucius squirmed – that was the only word Draco could apply to the desperately uncharacteristic act – under his son’s challenging gaze. “It was an apparently misguided attempt to provide a loophole that would ensure that the marriage would be finalized if you and she, uh, executed the condition,” he confessed, “regardless of any other terms or circumstances.”

“Damn straight, it was misguided,” Draco growled. “How dare you interfere with something so private, so intimate?” Draco tried to keep hold of his temper, but the task was not easy in the face of his father’s blatant betrayal. He did, however, find a small measure of relief that they were almost certainly discussing the same clause, based on the way his father had phrased his latest revelation.

“You’re right,” Lucius replied. “It was inappropriate and invasive, and I regret it. You should know, however, that it cannot be removed from the decree, which, with the exception of the final rite of marriage, has been fully executed.”

Draco scrubbed his hands over his face and sighed deeply. “Explain the exact definition, meaning, and ramifications of the term ‘Act of Congress’ as it appears in the clause and as it relates to the corresponding definitions in the Ministry’s legal documentation,” he instructed, biting his tongue to avoid wasting time with the tirade he wanted to unleash.

The elder wizard shifted uncomfortably once again, a sign that Draco had truly unnerved the man. Malfoys simply did not fidget. “The Ministry’s definition is immaterial. The only thing that matters is the intent within the decree. For the purposes of the clause you discovered, it simply means a consensual act of intercourse.”

“What implications are there, if any, for the intent of the act?” Draco pressed, wanting to leave absolutely no uncertainty.

“I don’t understand your question,” Lucius demurred.

“One definition I saw referred to ‘acts of procreation’ while another made no such reference. Would the intent of the act have impact? Would the use of a contraceptive charm or potion have relevance?” Draco clarified, somewhat impatiently.

“Intent and contraception have no bearing. Any consensual act of intercourse would render the contract for marriage complete and fully executed,” he admitted.

Draco was still not fully satisfied with the information’s thoroughness, so he asked the question one more way. “What effect would any other act of a sexual nature have on the execution of the decree?” As the thought formed, he added, “And to be clear, does it define intercourse as penile penetration of the vagina?”

“None, and yes,” he said with a high level of finality.

At that, Draco internally breathed a sigh of relief but maintained his outwardly stern expression. While the conclusion wasn’t as benign as he hoped it would be, it also wasn’t as dire as he feared it could be. He took a deep breath and posed another question. “What other hidden clauses or elements are present in the decree?”

“There are none,” Lucius stated.

Recalling part of his conversation with Hermione on the previous evening, another question came to mind. “How are you able to track whether elements of the contract have been satisfied or completed?”

Lucius swallowed visibly before answering, his discomfort once again obvious in his furrowed brow and narrowed eyes. “Blood magic.” When it seemed that he would not offer further detail, Draco prodded him for more information.

“How did you obtain the blood from me and Hermione?” Draco asked, though how his father could understand the question that had been posed through a jaw clenched so tightly that it ached, he couldn’t fathom.

Lucius sighed in defeat. “Only a microscopic amount was needed to infuse into the document. Most pureblood families maintain a small blood sample from each member in their vaults, and that’s where we obtained yours. It has been there since your birth. Hermione’s was gained when she had a minor cut which Narcissa helped her to heal. She retained a swab from which we extracted a tiny sample,” he revealed.

“Do you still have additional supply of these samples?” Draco demanded.

“Yes.”

His glare threatened to burn a hole through his father’s skull with its intensity. “You will return my sample to me and Hermione’s to her by noon today. If you fail to do this, the consequences will be so extreme that you will wish you had never been born,” he threatened, not knowing exactly what he would do, but certain that his creativity would allow him to craft an appropriate act of retribution should it become necessary. He felt reasonably confident that his father would not risk his fury more than he already had. “Do you understand? Will you comply?”

“Yes. You will have all blood samples we’ve retained,” he agreed.

“What about Louisa? Do you have one for her, too?” he pressed, suddenly terrified as the thought occurred to him.

“Yes.” Lucius’ complexion looked grey with anxiety.

“What, if anything, have you done with it?” Draco challenged.

“It has not been used,” Lucius stated.

“You will return any and all samples of Louisa’s blood to me at the same time you return the others. Send them all to me at the townhouse, and I will see that Hermione gets the one belonging to her. By noon,” he emphasized.

“I understand,” Lucius replied.

Draco rested his elbows on his knees and covered his face with his hands. His internal pep-talk told him to ask his final question before the potion wore off or his nerve gave out. “What other ways can the decree be fully executed or fully negated?” he asked as he straightened from his hunched position. His emotional exhaustion was beginning to take a heavy toll, but he needed to hear the answer to this final query before he could retreat to consider their next steps.

“There are three ways that the marriage contract may be fully executed. The first is to allow the six-month acceleration clause to expire without taking action to dissolve the contract. The second is to participate in a marriage rite at any time before the six-month acceleration clause would execute the bond on its own. The final way is to engage in consensual intercourse with Hermione,” he detailed.

Draco interrupted with another challenge. “Are you certain? These are the only three ways that the contract’s terms could result in the marriage being executed?”

Lucius tilted his head for a moment as if in thought. After a moment, he said, “There is one other possibility, although it’s only tangentially connected to the contract, and it doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

“And that would be…” Draco prodded.

“Enter a full dissolution agreement in the time as described in the contract, then marry at some point thereafter, although there would be a twelve-month waiting period once the dissolution decree is issued. New consent agreements and contracts would be needed as the originals would be null and void,” he explained.

Draco nodded in understanding and pressed for the answer to the second part of his earlier question. “And what about fully negating or nullifying the contract?”

“There are also three ways to fully nullify the contract. The first is to apply for a full dissolution agreement not less than sixty days prior to the expiration of the acceleration clause. The second would be the death of either of the parties to the contract. The third would be for one of the parties to marry someone other than the individuals named in the contract before the dissolution period begins just under four months from now. From what I’ve observed, that is not a likely scenario,” Lucius offered.

Draco stared at him sharply. “Your opinions are not exactly welcome right now, Father. I strongly suggest that you keep them to yourself.” He rose from the armchair and paced the room restlessly for a few moments before turning to his father one more time. “What else have you failed to disclose?”

“Nothing,” Lucius said, sounding defeated.

“What else do I need to know?” he tried one more time.

“Nothing.”

“After our first conversation about this, I asked you to share everything that you knew, and you not only didn’t live up to the spirit of our agreement, but through a manufactured loophole, you actively concealed an element that could have materially changed our lives. I can’t begin to tell you how distressed and furious I am about that. Father, you know that I love you and Mother, but the truth is that I don’t like you very much right now.”

With that, Draco turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, leaving Lucius behind to contemplate the consequences of his treachery.

Draco was shaking with anger and misery as he stalked purposefully toward his suite. There was no way he was in any condition to consider Apparating and the exceptionally warm weather meant that none of the Floo connections were active. He was relieved that no one interfered with his progress, and he entered his rooms unimpeded. Once inside, he paced for several moments, trying as much to burn off his tension as to process everything he’d learned. He knew he needed to share his findings with Hermione as soon as possible, but he wasn’t certain that he could articulate useful information with any degree of clarity in that state.

Finally, he calmed sufficiently to formulate a message for her. His text to her cell number was brief and succinct, and conveyed the urgency he felt: “Need 2 c u ASAP. Lots of info to share. When/where?”

Hermione’s reply came seconds later. “Lunch @ townhouse. C u then.”

Calling for his mother’s personal house-elf, Draco asked her to relay a message that he’d been called away on urgent business and would not return for several hours, possible not until the next morning. That mission accomplished, Draco gathered his wits, took a deep, calming breath, and Apparated to the townhouse to wait for Hermione.


	30. Calculations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Big decisions are made and a bigger one looms.

Draco was swimming laps in a marginally successful attempt to burn off his anger-induced adrenaline when Hermione arrived at the townhouse just a few minutes after noon. He heard her calling his name before he saw her approach and pushed himself out of the pool rather than finishing the lap he’d started. He swiped a thick towel over his head, chest, and arms, then leaned in to greet her with a kiss to her cheek.

“Hi,” he said, but the tone of his voice was strained and distracted.

“Your message seemed urgent,” Hermione said, “so I got here as quickly as I could. I’m free until half two. What’s going on?”

Taking her hand, he guided both of them to chaises beside the pool and sat on the end, planting his feet firmly on the ground between the two cushioned seats in a mirror to the position Hermione had taken. “I had a real row with my father after you left for work. Gave him the Veritaserum, you know. I was so angry by the time we were done, I could have stood on my head and spit Sickles,” he told her.

Her expression turned from concerned to compassionate. “I’m so sorry to hear that, Draco. I know you were looking for answers, but I hate to see you so upset over it. You know I’ve got your back, right?” she offered.

He reached across the small gap between them and took her hand, lacing their fingers together. “I know you do, and I hope you know I’ve got yours, too. We’re going to have to respond to all of this in a united front, whatever we decide. I won’t have him getting between us, even if his intent has been to bring us together.” He laughed bitterly. “How twisted is that?”

“I’ve been living with that darling Slytherin for three years, Draco. As much as I usually adore both of your parents, I’m under no illusions about just how calculating they can be,” she noted.

“Well, old Lucius has taken the cake this time. Let me fill you in…”

Forty minutes later, Draco had finished relating the details of his morning conversation, complete with descriptions of Lucius’ defeated expression and punctuated by Hermione’s interjections of, “You’ve got to be kidding,” “Oh, no, he didn’t,” and “Well, isn’t that a fine kettle of fish.”

“So there you have it,” he concluded with a humorless chortle. He pressed the heels of his palms into his weary eyes and rubbed, but the act could not hide the fact that there were tears gathering. He tried to sniff them back, but the hitches in his breathing and the heaving of his chest and shoulders gave further evidence to the distress he was attempting to conceal. “I’m so sorry you’ve been put in this position,” he choked out hoarsely.

A second later, Draco felt her weight compressing the cushion beside him and her arms encircling his shoulders. “Don’t you dare apologize for what they’ve done,” she hissed, angrily and vehemently. “You spent far too long being burdened with misplaced guilt, and I will not tolerate you taking the blame for this. You know where it belongs, and that is not with you.”

“But one more time, you’ve been hurt because of me,” he countered. “How can you so easily overlook that?”

He was stunned when she first pulled back to lightly slap his shoulder and then moved in to kiss him fully on the lips. “The last time you purposely hurt me, we were all of thirteen years old. That was half a lifetime ago. You have not hurt me in more than a dozen years. Bellatrix and Rodolpho hurt me, and Lucius and Narcissa have… disappointed me. You don’t have a single thing to be guilty about, and I simply won’t have it.”

Draco straightened and turned to face her, tears clumping his pale eyelashes together. He returned her kiss gently and sighed. “I know in my head that you’re right. It’s just so easy for me to get sucked back into feeling responsible for everything bad that happens,” he confessed quietly. “And though I understand that I’m not to blame for my father’s actions, we both know he took them because of his twisted desire to give me what he thought I wanted. The bastard never could say ‘no’ to me,” Draco noted with a sad shake of his head.

“You seem to be forgetting that you told me not fifteen minutes ago that one of the reasons Lucius crafted this little scheme was because he and your mother wanted me for ‘the family’ as much as for you,” Hermione retorted with a cocked eyebrow and the tiniest bit of preening.

“Uh, yeah, I did tell you that, didn’t I?” he acknowledged.

“So, cut the crap, Draco. I’m not going to let you take this little guilt trip,” she admonished. “We’re going to figure out the very best way to work our way through this while still teaching Lucius that there are prices to pay for trying to play his little games with our lives. And I, for one, plan to have a little fun along the way. Are you in?” Her challenging stare seemed to taunt him to try to contradict her.

“You really think we can come out on the other side of this without resenting how we were forced to make these decisions more rapidly than we would have wanted?” he asked skeptically.

Hermione smiled at him sweetly and kissed his cheek perfunctorily. “Of course we can, and we will.” She paused, then stood facing him with her hands on her hips. “Look, Draco. Were we not already getting closer – much closer – before we learned of the existence of the decree? Hadn’t we already talked about wanting to really explore the idea of a relationship? Didn’t I confess to you that I’d been feeling quite a lot more than friendship between us for a while now? And didn’t you pour your heart out to me with your hopes that we could build something real and lasting together?”

Draco peered up at her through the veil of his fringe and twisted his mouth into a grin. “It used to really annoy me when you were always right, you know. Not so much, anymore,” he said wryly. He finally rose from his own seat and wrapped his arms around her waist, tugging her close.

“You know that it’s no use arguing with me,” she cautioned him. “On the rare occasions when I’m not immediately totally right, I don’t give up until I am. You should know that about me by now,” she teased.

He nodded solemnly, tempered by the smile that he suddenly couldn’t suppress. “That’s true. Just one of the many things that I find so compelling about you. More perseverance than just about anyone I’m ever likely to meet. Or maybe that’s Gryffindor stubbornness,” he postulated jokingly.

“Call it what you like, as long as it works for us as we navigate our way through this lunacy,” she replied. She tucked her head into the crook of Draco’s neck and kissed the spot where the corded column met the angle of his shoulder.

He shuddered pleasantly at the sensation and returned the favor with a kiss to Hermione’s shoulder, although the effect was diminished by the fact that she was wearing significantly more clothing than he. “I love you, Hermione,” he whispered, then nearly regretted saying it as he felt her hesitation. “No, I’m not expecting any such declaration from you. It’s far too soon and far too much to ask or expect. I just wanted to say it.” He had not released her and the strength of his grip indicated that he wasn’t anxious to do so any time soon.

“I have come to love you, Draco, but I have to be honest in saying that I’m not sure yet if it’s the same kind of love you have for me,” she finally answered. “This is still new for me, and I’m working through what it all means. Don’t think for even a fraction of a second, though, that it disturbs me or puts me off to hear you express your honest feelings. It’s rather exhilarating, actually, to be told something so powerful and genuine.”

The pair stood in silence for a moment, rocking gently in each other’s arms. He squeezed her tightly once more, then released her from the embrace. Taking her hand, he led her back toward the house, saying, “I made a little lunch for us. We should eat while we finish our conversation.”

“Perfect,” she said. “And I still have better than an hour and a half before I need to head back to the hospital.”

Draco had left her then to change out of his damp swim trunks. A few minutes later, he retrieved the lunch of cold chicken salad, crusty bread and cold lemonade that he’d prepared for them while she set the table on the patio.

As they finished eating twenty minutes later, Hermione posed a question that had apparently been burning since Draco had revealed what he’d discovered that morning. “Do you think we should revisit the idea of Louisa and me moving here to the townhouse?”

Draco didn’t seem terribly surprised by her suggestion, in part because it had been Hermione who had first raised the idea and because the situation at the manor had become decidedly tenser. “You know that I’d have no objections to you moving in any time you like. I’m sure we could have the details worked out in a matter of a day or two. Just give me the word and I’ll start the process rolling,” he offered.

She worried her lips for a moment while formulating her next thought. “I see two concerns and two opportunities before we make that final leap. May we talk them out together?”

“Of course. It’s silly to even think you need to ask such a thing,” he scoffed at her hesitant request.

Hermione blushed slightly at his mild rebuke. “Well, it’s just that one of the issues is of the more sensitive variety, and I… well, never mind. Let’s just deal with all of it,” she said resolutely.

“I’m listening,” he affirmed, suggesting wordlessly that they find a more comfortable place to sit with a sweep of his arm toward the family sitting room through the patio’s French doors.

When they’d settled in on adjacent plush armchairs, Hermione broached her first concern. “One disadvantage to leaving the manor is that neither of us would be there to watch for any other machinations that Lucius might try to engineer. I’m concerned that he’d use the time that we cats were away to play the mouse with a bit more enthusiasm.”

Draco sat quietly for a moment considering the possibility she’d raised. “I think that’s a valid issue, but I also think that there are three reasons that it’s unlikely he’ll be able to wreak any greater havoc than he’s already done. First, the decree is a fully executed document at this point. There are no other changes or adjustments that he could make to it that would make the situation any more urgent than it already is. Second, if we’re not there, he will be a bit more occupied with helping Mother through her daily routine. She’s fairly independent in completing her therapeutic exercises, but she does still need someone nearby. Although he still works every day, he’s had much of his more mundane work farmed out to other executives in the firm since her injury. The rest, he handles from his office in the manor in a couple of hours each day. Finally, if we’re not there, it would be more difficult for him to directly manipulate us either individually or as a pair,” he reasoned.

She nodded slowly as she weighed Draco’s rebuttal. “That does make sense, but it raises the concern of your mother’s ongoing care. Although I’m not any happier about her involvement and approval of this situation, I’m also not eager to see her bear the brunt of the burden by us leaving all of her daily care to Lucius.”

“She’s improved quite a lot in the last few weeks, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. I haven’t been physically active in helping her through her exercises, other than observing to be sure she’s not over or under-doing it, for nearly three weeks. We could be sure to spend one evening a week, or continue to visit for Sunday brunch, as a way to keep an eye on her progress,” he suggested. “And, don’t forget, her professional therapists still come by once a week to adjust her exercises and check her status.”

“You’re right about her steady improvement,” Hermione acknowledged. “Maybe the weekly visit would be sufficient as long as Lucius monitors her daily therapy. And it would mollify them a bit so that they aren’t thinking that we’ve entirely abandoned the family. I don’t think we should go quite that far.”

Draco huffed a sarcastic laugh. “Right this minute, I’m not so terribly worried about that, but you’re probably right. I don’t want to go so far as to cut ties with them, but they need to understand that one of the prices they will pay, at least for the short term, is a little distance for us to figure out what we want.”

Hermione nodded enthusiastically. “I think that’s the perfect balance for now. So, we’re agreed on that point. Next, let’s talk about one of the opportunities, yeah?” she proposed.

“I’m all for it. What did you have in mind?” he encouraged.

“Well, we’ve talked about spending more private time together, and living here, under the same roof all the time and without outside influences, would undoubtedly allow us to do that,” she said, a bit more shyly than was warranted, Draco thought.

His eyes twinkled and his lips turned up into a slightly lascivious grin. “To repeat my comment from a moment ago, I’m all for it.”

“I know we’ve spent a lot of time together lately. At the manor, I mean. And sneaking away here now and again. But this would be all the time, except when we’re at work,” she spilled out in a babble.

Draco just nodded and cocked an eyebrow at her apparent nervousness. “That’s rather the point, isn’t it?”

“But what if we really get a lot closer? Won’t that create certain, uh, temptations that we’d be better not to, uh, tempt? That’s my other concern,” she said in a hurried tumble of words.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Draco fixed his gaze on her challengingly. “So you’re worried that I won’t be able to keep my hands and other body parts to myself?” he ribbed.

“Oh, no! That’s not what I meant at all,” she backtracked. “I’m more worried that I’m the one who would be more likely to, uh, push things further than they should probably go,” she confessed.

He broke out into a full-throated guffaw at that, then dropped to one knee beside her chair. “Well, I’d certainly look forward to that,” he said silkily when he’d finally recovered his composure. He captured her lips in a sultry kiss, but pulled away before the moment could get too intense.

Hermione rolled her eyes while he returned to his seat. “Don’t take the mickey, Draco. The ramifications of us getting carried away aren’t exactly miniscule,” she reminded him.

“Of course they’re not, but it also doesn’t mean we need to remain utterly chaste with each other,” he suggested. “If you don’t want more than kissing, I’ll absolutely respect that, but it you decide that you want a bit more, uh, exploration, I’ll be more than able and willing to adhere to whatever boundaries you do set, especially the final threshold.”

“That’s the thing. If we’re to develop a healthy relationship, I think there does have to be some greater physicality to it than just kissing. Don’t get me wrong; I think you’re a fabulous kisser and I enjoy it quite well. We should definitely move rather deliberately, but we should be able to progress beyond where we are now,” she said.

“Should we establish specific, uh, boundaries that we’re not willing to breach?” he offered.

“Oh, I don’t know that we need to get that specific or clinical about the whole thing. I mean, we’re both adults and both fully aware of any number of ways we could keep each other, uh, happy. Let’s just agree that we won’t entertain the idea of intercourse until we’ve made a final decision about where our relationship is going,” she recommended.

“So, if I may draw on our previous conversations on the topic, you’re talking about organic, measured, and incremental progress in our physical relationship, and we will revisit the topic of consummation if and only if we decide we want to marry, regardless of the terms of the decree,” he outlined.

“Yes, that’s perfect,” she agreed. “Just one other thing to consider, though, on that front.”

“And that is?” he prompted.

“How we behave in front of Louisa,” she answered. “She’s at that age where she notices absolutely everything and she’s completely unable to understand the concept of a secret, of course.”

“She has seen us kiss a couple of times…” he began.

“And she’s pointed it out on each occasion,” Hermione interrupted.

“Yes, but if it became a bit more commonplace, maybe she wouldn’t take as much note of it,” he suggested.

Hermione twisted her lips as she thought about Draco’s hypothesis. “You could be right about that, but we should keep to rather tame kisses around her, I think.”

“That makes sense,” he agreed.

“And anything more should, obviously, be kept behind closed doors,” she added.

At that, Draco cocked his eyebrow in amusement. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’d prefer any of those ‘other things’ be done in private anyway. I’m not an exhibitionist, as far as I know,” he said with a chuckle.

“Nor am I,” she said as teasingly as he had. “We should probably keep to our suite for any of that.”

Draco leaned over and placed delicate kisses along her jawline. “Your place or mine?” he asked, eyes afire with both need and humor.

She pushed him away jokingly, saying, “For the time being, it’s probably wise to keep to the sitting room. Beds make it just a little too easy to get up to things beyond what we’re able to deal with, just yet.”

“Right, as always, Miss Granger,” he assented. “As long as that doesn’t mean that getting horizontal with you is entirely off limits.”

She snorted at his vaguely hopeful expression. “One step at a time, but I suppose I could imagine one or two scenarios where that might be acceptable,” she said primly, her voice a sharp juxtaposition to the gleam in her eyes.

“So, now that we’ve got that bit relatively well sorted, what other concerns or opportunities would you care to discuss?” Draco prodded.

“Well. I’ve covered the concerns, and we’ve more than sufficiently handled one of the opportunities. There is one more on which I would like to hear your perspective.” She paused while he nodded and took her hand. “In addition to us getting to spend more private time together, I thought it would give us an opportunity to test how we could really live as a family. I know that may not seem all that different from what I said earlier with regard to our relationship, but to me, if feels very different. I’m talking about things like sharing chores, and eating all of our meals together…”

He interrupted then, saying, “We’ve been doing that lately, anyway.”

“Yes, but that’s been on the manor’s schedule. This would be on our timelines and in our responsibility. We won’t have house-elves to help and we’ll need to manage the house fully, just the two of us. I think it could be a very effective test of our ability to create a home as much as to create a relationship,” she concluded.

“And that’s important to you,” Draco noted, hoping she would expound on her thoughts.

“Yes, because I’ve never thought that a couple could build a relationship on attraction alone. Good marriages are built on shared values and goals, cooperation, and compromise. I think we already know that there’s physical interest to spare between us. If we can work out the other part successfully, then I think we would have a very strong foundation for the future,” she explained.

“I won’t dispute that at all. In fact, I think it’s rather brilliant. We can work on creating our own way right here, and if it plays out as I hope it will, we’ll formalize things in due time. If it doesn’t work, then we’ll both know we’ve given it our best attempt,” he replied.

“Exactly,” she concurred. “So, then, have we decided we’re going to do this?” she asked, sounding both anxious and hopeful.

“I give it a ‘yes’ vote, but there is one piece to still determine,” he cautioned.

“Yes?”

“Louisa’s day care situation,” he reminded her.

“Oh! I can’t believe I forget to tell you,” she answered, smacking her forehead over her forgetfulness.

He laughed and interjected, “Well, we have covered an awful lot of ground in ninety minutes.”

“No doubt, but anyway, I had a conversation this morning with the program director at St. Mungo’s and explained my concerns. She was very receptive to my suggestions and requests, and said that there were a couple of them that she could implement on her own authority immediately. The only thing for which she needed to get Board permission was to hire one more teacher to allow some shifting for the age group alignments. She felt fairly certain that it wouldn’t be an issue because there was probably enough money in the budget already. There’s a meeting next Tuesday, so we would know rather quickly, and she told me that she has several applications already on file,” she said excitedly.

“That is terrific news,” he agreed. “It would only take a couple of weeks to get things sorted, then.”

“At the most,” she said. “Truthfully, I would be willing to place her in the program at any time, knowing that the changes are well underway. A week or two under the existing structure will do no harm.”

“So, is that the last issue to weigh before making your decision?” he asked.

She nodded. “I think it is.”

“And?”

“Will you give me just tonight to sleep on it? I’m about as sure as I can be, and I’m really happy that you’re in favor of it, but I just want to let things percolate in my head for one more day,” she requested.

“No rush, no pressure from me,” he allowed. “We’ll do this, or not, or your timetable. You tell me what you need and when you need it, and I’ll be there.”

“Meet me tomorrow morning before breakfast in Louisa’s room, and I’ll give you my decision,” she promised.

“I’ll be there,” he vowed again.

XXXXX

Hermione had left the townhouse a few minutes later in order to prepare for her next patient, returned to the manor in time for dinner (from which Draco was conspicuously absent), and retired shortly after putting Louisa to bed, telling Lucius and Narcissa that she had patient files to review.

At just before nine o’clock, her cellphone vibrated with an incoming text message. It wasn’t a big surprise that it was from Draco. “Miss me?”

“Always,” she replied.

“Feel like a chat?” he returned.

Rather than reply in a text, she pressed the speed dial button assigned to his number.

“Hi there,” he answered after one ring.

“I’m assuming you’re at the townhouse?” she asked.

“Yeah, I am. I didn’t relish the idea of a polite meal with my parents while I’m still so angry with them, and I thought you could use a little space to think about our conversation this afternoon,” he explained.

“I had a feeling it was something like that,” she noted. “I wasn’t particularly surprised that you didn’t come back, but I did miss having you as a bit of a buffer at dinner,” she admitted.

“I’m sorry; I didn’t think about that. I was selfish. Will you forgive me?” he asked, sounding more contrite than he really needed to be.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffed. “You needed your space, and I still had Louisa as a perfectly wonderful distraction. Besides, I came to my suite rather early tonight. I got into my jammies and curled up on the sofa with a cup of tea and my thoughts.”

“Sounds like a perfectly relaxing evening,” he suggested.

“Well, considering the turbulent nature of my thoughts, I’m not sure I’d go that far,” she retorted.

“I hope you’ll be able to sort them out in short order, then,” he wished her.

“I’m sure a good night’s sleep will do me a world of good,” she said. “You know only too well that I have a tendency to over-think and over-analyze things, but if I don’t give myself a little time to mull over big decisions like this, I move right into second-guessing and regrets. I don’t want to have any misgivings once I’ve made my decision,” she reasoned.

“And I’d be most eager for you to be certain in your choices, for my own selfish purposes,” he admitted. “So, by all means, ponder away.”

“This kind of thinking always makes me antsy. I feel like my legs can’t stop moving – like I should be jogging or something. I’ve got up from the sofa at least four times to pace the room,” Hermione admitted.

“If you were here, I’d suggest a swim in the pool to burn off some energy,” he offered.

“I suppose I could do the same here, but I’d rather not make it obvious that I haven’t retired for the night, if you know what I mean,” she noted.

“I do. I wish there was something I could do to help,” he said.

“I know, love, but this is one chore I must do for myself,” she replied. “I’ve not yet figured out a way to share the task of analyzing my own thoughts.”

“Well, I don’t want to keep you from them, but I did want to wish you a good night and sweet dreams. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow morning,” he said. “Goodnight, love.”

“Goodnight, Draco. Sweet dreams,” she answered.

Their conversation had been brief, but it had been enough to make Hermione feel cherished. Draco had been so sweet and thoughtful, but had been wise enough to not apply any pressure. It had been exactly what she had needed to hear from him at that moment, and it was one more weight that could be placed on the side of the scale that was now heavily tipping toward the decision to leave the manor in favor of the townhouse. True to her earlier plan, though, she would sleep on it and make her final decision in the morning.

An hour later, Hermione slipped into bed and, within moments, into the land of dreams. In stark contrast to her mood earlier in the evening, her dreams were not troubled, confusing, or stressful. They were, in fact, blissful. Images of warm and loving hours spent with Louisa and Draco, living as a family, filled her consciousness. Laughter, contentment, and even passion were evident in the tableaus that took her from restless debate to firm decision. She awoke feeling refreshed and ready to make a monumental and momentous change.

True to his promise, Draco arrived at the manor prior to breakfast, making his way to Louisa’s room without encountering any other member of the family. When the door opened a few minutes later, Draco was cuddling with Louisa on the rocking chair. He greeted Hermione with a cautious and hopeful smile. “Good morning,” he said, trying to keep the question out of his tone.

Hermione snickered at his blatant nervousness, but decided to take pity on him by answering his unspoken question.

“Yes, it is a good morning, and yes, I’ve decided it’s best for all of us that Louisa and I move into the townhouse with you as soon as we can work out the logistics,” she told him.

Draco turned first to Louisa and whispered into her ear, receiving an ear-piercing squeal of joy in response. In turn, Louisa scrambled down from her Papa’s lap to hug Hermione’s knees. “Oh, thank you, Mummy!” she cried happily.

“I guess that means we’ll be telling them at breakfast,” Hermione said dryly.

Draco laughed heartily. “No time like the present.”

“So, how do you think we should do this? Should I offer it as my idea, you as yours, or as a joint decision?” she asked.

“I’m not sure that it really matters all that much, but the only one that makes less sense is suggesting that it’s my idea. If we’re committed to the ‘united front’ concept, then we should go that route with this decision, too,” he opined.

“I agree. We’ll need to be quick about it, though. There’s no way little Missy will be able to keep this under her hat for more than a minute,” Hermione noted.

He extended one hand to Hermione and lifted Louisa onto his hip with the other. “Shall we?”

Moments later, the entire family had gathered at the breakfast table in the solarium. Before a single bite had been taken, Draco said, “Hermione and I have something to tell you.”

Both of his parents responded with vaguely optimistic expressions but they were quickly quashed when Hermione spoke next.

“Louisa and I will be moving out of the manor and into the townhouse, with Draco, in the next few days,” she announced.

“Does that mean anything in particular, dear?” Narcissa asked.

Draco spoke up then. “With all due respect, Mother, whatever it does or doesn’t mean is between Hermione and me. Suffice it to say that we believe the environment in London will be better suited to us achieving whatever goals we’ve set out.”

“What about Louisa’s care during the day? Will you have need of Anjie to look after her?” Narcissa asked.

“No, I’ve made arrangements for Louisa to enter the early childhood education and care program at St. Mungo’s. She’ll be with children her own age, and in a facility that’s just a floor below my office,” Hermione said. “But thank you for the offer. We won’t need Anjie.”

“I will be using Nipsy for a couple of hours later today, however, to help me move Hermione’s and Louisa’s personal property to the townhouse,” Draco said. “Please let me know what compensation you’ll require for his time.”

Lucius grunted gruffly, the first indication he’d given of his feelings on the matter. “Don’t be insulting, Draco. First of all, I see no reason for Hermione and Louisa to leave the manor. They’re perfectly comfortable and perfectly welcome to stay, as are you, for that matter. And should you decide to persist in this foolishness, what would ever make you think I’d ask you to pay for using a family house-elf?”

“And why would you like the three of us to stay, Father? So that you can keep an eye on our behavior? So that you can try to engineer the outcome to suit your own picture of how things should be? No, Father, that’s not going to happen. Here’s how this is going to play out, like it or not. Hermione and I will do whatever it is we’ve decided to do. We will see you once a week for Sunday brunch, to check on Mother’s health and so that you can spend a little time with Louisa. The rest of it will not be discussed with you until after whatever decision we reach has been fully realized. Is that clear enough for you?” Draco spat.

Lucius glared at him with equal measures of surprise and frustration. It was clear that he understood that Draco had found the only way he could to wrest away control of the situation.

“Eminently,” he answered in his most patrician drawl. “Of course, we shall provide whatever assistance you require to complete the move. Gratis.”

“Thank you, Lucius. That’s kind of you,” Hermione interjected. Whether her apparent intention to diffuse some of the bow-taut tension was successful was in deep doubt.

Narcissa had been sitting quietly, watching the exchange between her husband and her son. Tears had begun to gather in her eyes and she had gasped when Draco had issued his edict.

That had not escaped the younger wizard’s notice, but as distressed as he was to see how upset she had become, her own role in their current predicament and his overwhelming need to reclaim the dignity of his own choices in life had silenced the comforting words or gestures he might have otherwise offered. Forgiveness and reconciliation would almost certainly come, but not today.

Hermione cleared her throat. “Yes, well, since I need to be at work today, there won’t be time to organize everything until this evening, and tomorrow, which is Saturday, is a full day free from work obligations. I expect that we should be able to move in by tomorrow evening,” she said.

“And will you join us for brunch on Sunday?” Narcissa said, her words sounding much more like a plea than a question.

“I don’t think so,” Draco said. “Hermione and Louisa will need a little time to settle in. Next week, perhaps.”

Hermione nodded in assent. “I think that’s best for now.”

“Yes, of course. Whatever you wish, dear,” Narcissa whispered in reply.

The remainder of the meal was nearly silent; only Louisa kept up her babble, although the subdued mood limited her usually incessant chatter. Narcissa, through her chastened mood, asked Hermione if there was anything she could do to provide assistance, or if she’d rather that the day be spent in the usual schedule that they’d established. Refusing her help had not been spiteful, and Hermione suggested that normality would be best for the tot.

Lucius had remained sullen and silent, with the exception of two or three words in direct response to comments from Louisa. It was clear that he was furious over having been outmaneuvered yet again, and his pride was at least as wounded as his heart. It would take intervention from Merlin himself for the man to admit either to another living soul.

Finally, Hermione had to leave to make it to work on time and Draco had a meeting at Gringotts to finalize a transfer of funds to the foundation’s account in Salem to support the opening of a third site in Lowell. Perfunctory goodbyes were offered by Draco to his parents. His parting from Hermione was noticeably warmer, but purposely circumspect to forestall any speculation that might be forthcoming. Louisa was treated with the usual shower of kisses and wishes for a wonderful day. The child, though, was undoubtedly more sensitive than anyone had credited. Her simple declaration, “Papa is sad,” caused a fresh wave of tears from her grandmother and an unfamiliar and devastating crush of guilt in her grandfather.

XXXXX

“I think that’s the last of it,” Draco said as he dropped the carton of toys in Louisa’s room.

“Did you remember to grab Penelope from her bed?” Hermione asked, sounding a tiny bit frantic. Louisa refused to sleep without her favorite stuffed unicorn.

Draco grinned and plucked the toy out of the top of the box. “There’s no way I’d forget that. And on the off chance that I had, I’d be making an immediate trip back to the manor. I well know the hazards of a bedtime without the thing.”

Hermione giggled at his characterization but noted that he wasn’t wrong. “Fabulous. Just put it on her bed so that we can easily find it later,” she suggested.

“Have you finished putting away her clothes, or do you need help?” Draco asked.

Hermione shook her head. “All done. I’m finished with her bathroom, too. The only thing left to do is putting away the rest of her toys.”

Dropping to sit on the floor, Draco said, “Let me work on sorting through that, and you can finish up with your things.”

“Are you sure? It wouldn’t take us more than a few minutes together,” she offered.

“Positive. I’ll use a bit of magic and have it done in no time,” he said. “Divide and conquer.”

Hermione glanced at the wristwatch that had once belonged to her mother, one of only a small handful of mementos she’d salvaged from her parents’ home, and noted that it was only half five. “Wow, I thought it was later than that,” she mumbled.

“We’ve been working our arses off since eight this morning, so there’s no surprise you’re a bit knackered,” he said. “If you hadn’t insisted on doing half the packing the Muggle way, we’d probably be done by now.” Although his words could have come off as harsh, the huge grin on his face paired with the laughter bubbling in his tone told the real story of his lighthearted teasing.

“Yeah, and remind me just who it was who wanted to play with every toy and inspect every item of clothing before packing them away?” Hermione needled right back.

He blushed sheepishly. “There were many items I’d never seen before,” he excused.

“We won’t talk about the fact that that’s true because they were her infant toys, and that the inspection could have been done here,” she said, giggling just a bit.

He shrugged while continuing to sort through the plush toys in the crate. “I figured that there might be things better left behind. Like the teething rings and baby rattles,” he cited.

Rolling her eyes dramatically, she said, “Alright, Mister Smarty Pants. You’re at least half right. I’ll allow you your shallow victory.”

Draco reached up and grabbed Hermione at her hips and tugged her down directly into his lap, where he captured her with arms tightly wrapped. “And what’s my prize, love? May I claim a kiss for my triumph?”

Hermione’s laughter gave way to a huskier sound, and she twisted in his lap to give him the boon he’d requested. The playful peck progressed to something more passionate until they were interrupted by Louisa toddling into the room from where she’d been playing with puzzles in their suite. “Papa kiss Mummy,” she said, then turned and walked out of the room, apparently unimpressed or disinterested in the goings-on in her own room.

The pair cuddled up on the floor paused, looked at each other sheepishly, and burst into fits of laughter. “Told you she’d get used to it,” Draco reminded her.

“Your reward for that correct prediction will need to wait,” Hermione said, using her grip on his forearms to lever herself into a standing position. “I’ve still got a bit of unpacking to do in my room, then dinner. We’ll revisit this conversation once she’s in bed.” With a wink, she sauntered off to the suite of rooms down the hall, leaving him shaking his head.

Draco then made quick work of finishing his task, methodically sorting through the last of Louisa’s toys and placing them in the appropriate spots. He disposed of the remaining cartons and crates, then ventured over to the master suite to check on Hermione’s progress.

He stood in the doorway for a second or two, just watching her work, then made his presence known. Louisa looked up at him from her spot on Hermione’s bed, playing with stuffed replicas of magical creatures.

“Hey, Hermione, I’m done putting the rest of Louisa’s things away. Is there anything I can do to help you?” he offered.

She turned from the dresser she was filling with t-shirts and pullover tops and smiled. “I just have one more box to empty, and that shouldn’t take more than ten or fifteen minutes. Maybe you could start thinking about dinner for Louisa,” she suggested. “She seems pretty tired, so an early bedtime may be warranted.” To illustrate her point, the tot yawned quietly.

“Sounds like a good plan,” he agreed.

“I’ll be down in a few minutes to give you a hand.”

He waved a hand at her in dismissal. “No, I’ve got it covered. Why don’t you have a quick soak in the tub, or something? Dinner for us will be ready in a little more than an hour,” he said.

An hour and a quarter later, Draco had already fed Louisa, changed her, and put her to bed when Hermione joined him in the dining room. Her gasp as she entered the room was immensely satisfying, and exactly the reaction he’d hoped for.

“Draco, what is all this?” she said breathlessly, waving her hand to encompass the scene she’d encountered.

“Hermione!” He straightened and smiled broadly. “Just a little celebration for our first night of formal cohabitation,” he replied, moving to pull out her chair.

“Thank you,” she said habitually. “You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble. It’s beautiful. I’m a little stunned, I guess,” she admitted.

The table was set with the fine Lenox china and Waterford crystal stemware that usually filled the antique mahogany china cupboard. The flatware was the gleaming sterling set that, to her knowledge, had only been used when they’d invited Draco’s parents for the impromptu housewarming brunch they’d hosted months earlier. Cream-colored linen napkins manipulated into intricate folds resembling swans decorated both place settings. White, red, and pink roses made a riotous ball of color in a beautifully etched crystal bowl, just large enough to make a statement without creating a visual distraction to conversation. Two tall tapers glimmered on the table in their sterling candlesticks, while the sconces along the walls emitted a warm and homey glow. A tall sterling silver bucket filled with ice and stocked with a bottle of Veuve Cliquot Grande Dame champagne stood beside the table, and the faint strains of a violin concerto – she recognized the melody but couldn’t recall its name – whispered through the air.

Draco laid a hand gently on her shoulder and kissed her cheek as he assisted her with her chair. When she turned back to look at him, he shrugged. “Most people eat pizza on moving day, or so I’ve been told, but ours was a bit less taxing with the help of the elf and a little magic, so I thought you’d enjoy something a little nicer.”

“Oh, this is wonderful, and I’m so impressed. If I’d known, I’d have worn something a little less… casual,” she said, indicating the light blue drawstring pants and simple white t-shirt she’d donned after her bath.

“Well, I’m not wearing anything special, either. This is about the experience and the ambience, clothing be damned.”

When her eyebrow cocked in response, Draco flushed and spluttered. “Oh, that's not what I meant.”

“You are just too easy to wind up, Draco,” she said, choking back a laugh. “A little innuendo, even of the intentional variety, is not going to offend me in the least, so I seriously doubt a slip of the tongue is an issue. Just relax, and pour that champagne.”

He cleared his throat and accepted her teasing gracefully. “I just hate to look like an idiot when I’m trying to impress you,” he said softly.

“You impress me most when you just be yourself. Whether that’s sweet or sarcastic or funny or awkward, all of it’s fine with me. And your little bouts of insecurity are endearingly adorable. I know you have the capacity to be very strong – I saw that just yesterday in the way you handled your parents – and all the different facets and moods of you are what makes you so interesting and intriguing to me,” she said. “So, let’s leave all that talk aside for now and have a wonderful dinner together.”

“Yes, madam,” he answered, cheekily saluting her with the champagne bottle. The flush in his cheeks had finally lessened and he took the moment to open and pour the bubbly libation for both of them. He handed one of the crystal stems to Hermione and lifted his in a toast. “To new beginnings and growing together,” he said, tapping the rim of the flute against hers, then taking a sip. “Now, if you’ll excuse me for a minute, I’ll serve dinner.”

They sat at the table for nearly two hours, relishing the fresh spinach salad with warm bacon dressing, seared scallops with roasted potatoes, and glazed lemon cake while talking, laughing, and thoroughly enjoying each other’s company. Not lost on either of them was the number of times that one or the other had reached out with a caress or kiss, and the eye contact that had gone from friendly to smoldering as the evening had progressed.

When Draco had produced a second bottle of champagne, it had been Hermione who had suggested that they take it to the sitting room that they'd both come to enjoy so much. When Draco sat in the corner of the sofa, stretching his legs to rest on the leather ottoman, Hermione cuddled into his side and rested her head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her and tugged her even closer, placing his fingers under her chin to tilt her head up for a sensual kiss.

One kiss turned into many, and while Draco was behaving cautiously, Hermione was silently urging him to move beyond his tentative touches on entirely safe and innocuous areas by allowing her hands to roam rather freely. He gasped when she slowly unbuttoned his shirt and shamelessly kneaded the muscles from his stomach to his shoulders. When she deliberately brushed her thumbs over his nipples, he finally got the message that she was inviting him to reciprocate.

When he did, his touches were far more tentative and subtle than it seemed she’d expected, as her slightly frustrated huffs conveyed.

“Slow down, love; we’ve got all the time in the world,” he whispered in her ear, following his words with a trail of delicate kisses along the column of her neck.

Her expression seemed chastened, and for a moment, Draco regretted his attempt to slow the pace of their amorous encounter.

She pulled away slightly and quietly said, “I’m sorry. I thought you…”

He tugged her closer again and kissed her with undeniable enthusiasm, attempting to tell her with his actions what his words had apparently failed to do. Finally, he pulled back and placed his palm against her cheek, holding her attention. He said, “No, I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable. I just… I love you so much that I don’t want you to think this is just physical for me.”

Draco leaned in and pressed his lips against hers again, trying to pour his feelings into the kiss.

When Hermione finally pulled back, her expression was quizzical. “We’re consenting adults, aren’t we? I might be more inclined to move slowly if we were still teenagers, but that’s clearly not the case.”

He countered her argument with reverence and respect. “Because of the way the decree is written, when we make love for the first time, no matter when or where that is, we’ll be marrying. In my heart, there’s nothing that could be more sacred. Accuse me of being a Hufflepuff about the whole thing, but you deserve that consideration and esteem. I don’t want us to rush this to the point that we create greater frustrations for both of us.”

Her responding smile was at once shy and seductive. “If making someone feel utterly cherished makes you a Hufflepuff, then I’ll be happy to notify Hogwarts of your change of house allegiance,” she said, lacing her fingers with his. “I’m a little eager, I guess,” she admitted.

He squeezed her hand and waited, as it seemed clear that she had more to say. Watching the process of her gathering her thoughts was always fascinating. He didn’t have long to wait, however.

“I think we’re in slightly different places in how we view our relationship,” she began, “and how we’re reacting to the circumstances. I’m immensely attracted to you, physically, and I’m drawn to you emotionally, but I also feel like I’m still discovered new facets of who you are. I also know I can be a bit more… rash, I guess, than you are when I’m in the process of learning, and that’s what I think may be happening here. I’m trying to learn everything about you, including the physical, as quickly as I possibly can, and that’s made me a little more, uh, aggressive than I might otherwise be.”

“And I’m doing my best to keep a rein on my inner beast so that it doesn’t overwhelm both of us,” Draco replied with an odd mix of regret and amusement in his tone. He felt sure that she couldn’t have missed the evidence of his interest, so obviously pressed against her hip as they cuddled together on the sofa.

“So, not to belabor the discussion, but what do we do about this?” Hermione wondered aloud. “How can we find that place in the middle where we’re both happy?”

His response was whispered, throaty and low in her ear. “Make no mistake, Hermione. There’s not a single thing about this that makes me unhappy.” Rather than say anything further, Draco demonstrated his willingness and enthusiasm by shifting so that he was stretched out on his back, pulling Hermione to rest flush atop him. He massaged her lower back, feeling for the hem of her t-shirt and finally allowing himself to touch the soft, bare skin underneath. When she hummed appreciatively against his lips, he roamed more freely with his fingers until he encountered the barrier of her bra clasp. Pulling back slightly from the deep kiss that had both of them a bit breathless, he silently asked permission to release the closure. When she smiled slyly in reply, he obliged and finally moved his thumbs forward on her ribcage to gently caress the underside of her breasts. When she gulped delightedly, he allowed their weight to rest in his palms, kneading gently as he felt her nipples peak in response.

She pulled away then, but not so far as to break contact. “Would you like me to take this off?” she whispered, fingering the hem of her shirt.

He was struck dumb for a brief moment and could only nod in agreement. The “Yes, please,” that he finally uttered sounded more like a croak to his ears. He watched raptly as he lifted the garment over her head, revealing the pale pink lace bra that he’d been toying with moments earlier, hanging loosely from her shoulders. At her nod, he grasped the straps and gently pulled them down along her arms, tossing the item over his shoulder as he focused his gaze on her in admiration. “You are exquisite – more beautiful than I’ve imagined in my dreams,” he whispered, leaning forward to place gentle kisses along her collarbones and the tops of her breasts.

When she groaned approvingly at the contact, Draco decided that he could risk being a bit more bold and trailed the tip of his tongue toward one of her deep pink peaks, swirling and capturing it between his teeth while brushing the pad of his thumb over the other. She held his head close, making it clear that she enjoyed and encouraged his action.

While he continued to lavish his attentions on her, Draco made the decision that if things progressed much further tonight, it wouldn’t be at his prompting. He resolved to keep his promise to both of them that they would proceed at Hermione’s pace. Even that caused him a bit of consternation as he allowed his thoughts to wander to whether she would reach a point where her current physical fascination with him would hit the brick wall of their horrifying past. Although it wasn’t intentional, he felt himself pulling away from her, both physically and emotionally, for just a moment. When she took his head in her hands and tilted it up so that their eyes met, he knew that she’d realized his hesitation immediately.

“What’s wrong, Draco?” she asked, but her tone was clearly filled with concern and compassion more than fear or distress.

He smiled at her a bit wanly, then said, “We’ve promised that we’d keep no secrets, yeah?” When she nodded solemnly, he continued, “As wonderful as this is, I’m wondering when our… past will come back to hit you – us- between the eyes.” His chuckle was entirely humorless.

She brushed his fringe aside with her fingers and rested her forehead against his. “How much do you remember about that night?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper. She did not move, did not pull away from him as she awaited his answer.

He took her cue and maintained their intimate posture and hushed tone. “Very, very little, to be honest. Whatever memory charms and potions dear Auntie Bella and her darling hubby used on me were very effective. I had terrible nightmares about what I did, but that was as much about my imagination of worst-case scenarios as it was about the brief flashes of actual memories that I occasionally had. I remember the aftermath, at the cottage, vividly, but I recall my attack on you only in abstract terms. My therapists believe that I will probably never fully recover those memories, and if I’m being completely blunt, I’m okay with that.”

She nodded slowly, still holding her position against his forehead. “I need to tell you something, and I hope that it will help both of us get past this once and for all.” She stopped and took a deep, shuddering breath. “I know that I’ve told you that I went through several weeks of intensive therapy immediately, uh, after. And you obviously know that after Louisa was born, I started my training to become a Mind Healer. Before anyone is allowed to become a certified Mind Healer, he or she must complete a full psychological profile and be determined to be entirely mentally healthy and free of any source of psychoses or defect. If any issues are uncovered during the examination process, the candidate must undergo the appropriate treatment protocol and be retested until the profile comes back completely clear.” She paused again, and threaded her fingers together behind Draco’s neck, anchoring them together. “With me, the only thing they found that caused any concern was my memory of the…event. My response to it was deemed healthy and appropriate, as were my coping and reaction skills. The entire panel of examiners was consulted and they determined that the best and most healthy treatment protocol for me was to have the memory of the attack extracted and destroyed.” Draco swallowed a gasp at her confession and listened intently as she continued. “That’s what we did. I know that it happened, and I clearly remember you taking such good care of me when we were in the cottage, but I no longer have any specific memories of what happened between us in the dungeon.”

Draco groaned, as much in anguish as in relief. Her fingers were now caressing the back of his neck and she hadn’t tried to put any space between them. He heard her begin to speak again.

“Draco, I didn’t need the memory any longer. I had fully forgiven you and completely come to terms with what it was and how it had happened. Our very best experts had determined that I was completely mentally healthy and had suffered no long-term ill effects. The removal of the memory was voluntary and optional. They felt it would simply allow me clearer thinking, particularly if I needed to work with victims of sexual abuse or crimes. It didn’t help me to forgive you for what happened; it was the result of the fact that I already had.”

Finally, she fell silent and Draco felt her lean in to press her lips against his. Her kiss was tentative and gentle, but there was no mistaking her intent. He could no more refuse her than he could refuse to allow the blood to pump through his veins, and he returned her kiss with as much love and tenderness as he could possibly offer. He wrapped his arms around her and drew her flush against his chest, stretching them out fully on the sofa. That was how the morning would greet them, shining brightly through the large picture window that Hermione so loved.

Eight Weeks Later

Anyone who might have observed the three residents of the townhouse on this late October morning would have assumed that the young family was like any other – a doting husband and father making strawberry waffles for his lovely wife and toddling daughter. The circumstances might point to that conclusion, but the labels were not fully accurate. The child was indeed the issue of the young man and woman, and his actions showed that he clearly adored both of the ladies who were seated at the breakfast table as he poured juice into glasses before taking his own seat opposite the elder of the two females.

“We’re halfway through,” she observed lightly.

That she needed to explain her comment no further was obvious in Draco’s response. “We are, indeed,” he said, lifting his pumpkin juice in salute. “We should probably finalize our plans to execute our decision in the next few days. It will take a few legal maneuvers and documents if we go along with the idea we talked about last weekend.”

“I love the idea, Draco,” Hermione said. “It achieves our goals, ensures our privacy, and means that your parents will have had to pay a real price for their interference. I think it’s about as perfect as it could be.”

He smiled at her gently. “If you like, I can work on getting the documents prepared over the next few days so that they’re ready for the middle of December. That’s just inside the four-month window,” he noted, though it was clear that she understood the ramifications. “I’ll have to make a few Floo calls to the solicitor to make sure we’ve got everything covered.”

“I trust you to handle the details. We’ve talked about it often enough in the last two weeks that I know you understand exactly what I want,” she allowed.

“They’ll be so pi… annoyed,” Draco observed wryly, changing his word choice quickly as he noted his daughter’s attention. Hermione’s wink told him that she fully understood what he’d intended and was both in agreement with his assessment and immensely amused by it.

“Without a doubt. I’ll be honest in noting that it’s the least of my concerns at the moment. We have an awful lot to handle in a very short period of time,” she stated.

Breakfast was finished by the trio just a few minutes later, and Draco glanced at the clock on his phone to confirm the time. “I’ve got to get moving. I have an early meeting with the new Head Chef so that we can finalize the menu for next week’s opening gala,” he reminded her.

“I’m so proud of what you’ve accomplished in such a short time, Draco. It’s truly amazing,” she said, reaching over to squeeze his hand as he dropped a kiss on Louisa’s head.

Draco stopped as Hermione rose from her chair and wrapped her arms around his shoulders in a tight hug. He whispered in her ear as they embraced, “Thank you, love. Your encouragement has been my inspiration, particularly as we come down the home stretch. I couldn’t have done it without your support.” He kissed her cheek and said, “We’ll talk this evening. I’ll be late if I don’t go now.” With that, he dashed off to activate the Floo for the trip to the restaurant that he’d decided to name “The Second Act.”

Once he’d left, Hermione made final preparations for her trip to St. Mungo’s, gathering Louisa’s necessities for her day at the hospital’s child care facility. As she passed the closed doors of the suite that she and Draco shared, she smiled slightly, recalling how they’d finally reached their decision. The next seven weeks would be hectic and stressful, but in the end, she was confident that they would both get exactly what they needed. Hitching Louisa higher on her hip, Hermione said, “Let’s go, baby girl.”


	31. Oblivion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The deadline approaches and decisions have been made. Could it be nothing but smooth sailing ahead, or do consequences and complexities get in the way?

“For the tenth time this week, Narcissa, no, I haven’t heard anything more from either Draco or Hermione,” Lucius answered exasperatedly at her query. “I expect that they will be here as usual on Sunday, but my son is certainly not communicating with me outside of that.”

“It’s just that time is getting short for them to make a decision, and I had hoped that when it came down to the wire, he might seek one of us out for counsel,” she said, the disappointment evident in both her tone and her expression. As the fine Slytherin she’d always been, she hid her depression well when others, including her recalcitrant son and the woman he loved, were present. Only with her husband did she periodically let down her guard. And while her physical condition had improved markedly, she was still not at her former full capacity. As was often the case with severe brain injuries, her emotions were significantly more volatile than they had been at any other time in her life, save her pregnancy with the son who was now the proximate cause of her high anxiety.

“I think that their behavior over the last several weeks has made it abundantly clear that they will make their decisions, whatever they will be, on their own time and with only each other for counsel. Of course, it will need to fall within the time parameters mandated by the decree, but I choose to look at the situation with optimism. We’ve both felt for years that if they had the opportunity to work closely together on something – anything, really – that it would draw them to each other. They are keeping each other’s secrets, and there’s little that creates greater intimacy than that, Cissy,” he concluded. Having been witness to more than one breakdown since the children’s departure, he had learned that maintaining a steady demeanor was helpful in keeping his wife on an even keel. He hoped that what he’d said was sufficient to calm her without giving undue hope.

“I hope you’re right, Lucius. There’s barely four weeks until they’d be required to file for the dissolution of the decree. Wouldn’t he have had to start to work with a solicitor to draw up those agreements by the deadline?” she asked.

“That’s likely true, but he could certainly have engaged another attorney, and if he entered an oath with that person, there’s little likelihood that I’d be able to learn with whom he’s even working, much less what he’s asked to be done,” Lucius reminded her. “Our son is certainly adept at keeping his secrets, and this is a topic on which he’ll have made every effort to safeguard his privacy. An Unbreakable Vow would not surprise me.” While this postulation was probably not as benign as would have been best for maintaining peace, he would also not lie about things that were probable, given the circumstances in which they found themselves.

“With everything that’s at stake for him in this, I’m sad to say that I agree,” she concurred. “So, we wait?”

He nodded sharply as he reached for the morning edition of the Daily Prophet. “Unless the charms give us notice that a marriage has been consummated, yes, we wait.”

XXXXX

Later that night…

“Was it ready?” Hermione asked eagerly as Draco stepped through the Floo. At nearly half ten, he was nearly an hour later than she’d expected and she hoped that there hadn’t been any problems. His initial expression was one of disappointment, but his eyes lit up when she greeted him in the foyer.

“I’m afraid it won’t be ready until tomorrow, love, but we’ve got plenty of time. Three and a half weeks is more than enough cushion, even with the backlog at the Ministry,” he told her, stopping to kiss her briefly. “Sorry I’m so late. We had a problem with one of the suppliers for the restaurant and they wouldn’t talk to anyone but the owner to get it cleared up. If they won’t respect my General Manager’s authority in these simple issues, I think it’s time to find a new source for our dairy products.” He shrugged out of his cloak and suit coat and tugged off his tie. “It’s getting really frigid out there tonight, and it’s not even December yet,” he noted, rubbing his hands together and holding them out toward the roaring fire in the hearth.

Putting her fists on her hips in minor annoyance, Hermione complained, “How hard can it be to get a Portkey?”

Draco stepped closer and threaded his arms through the vees that her akimbo arms had created, tugging her flush against his body. He nibbled at her neck for a second or two before finally answering what she’d probably intended as a rhetorical question. “Well, to be fair, darling, it’s a bit more than just a Portkey. It’s a substantial distance, overseas Portkey, for more than two people, and it’s also round trip. Not to mention that it’s for the week before Christmas. So, yeah, it’s a little more complicated than a hop over to Hogsmeade.” When he finished speaking, he resumed nibbling and Hermione responded by tilting her head to allow better access.

“I know, I know. I’m just getting impatient to have all the details worked out. I’m excited. Are you excited?” she babbled.

He laughed huskily. “Of course I’m excited. I’m always excited when you’re concerned. Can’t you tell?” The roll of his hips made sure that she could. After a few more kisses for good measure, he finally pulled back just enough to make eye contact. “The munchkin’s sleeping, I assume?” he asked.

“Mmhmm,” Hermione hummed. “She tried so valiantly to wait up for you, but she was out like a light by eight. I promised you’d come in to kiss her goodnight.”

“Why would tonight be any different than any other night?” he asked with a grin. “Of course I’ll kiss her goodnight. You, too, if you’re a good girl.”

She cocked an eyebrow at him. “And exactly what would constitute me being a ‘good girl,’ Mister Malfoy?”

“I’m sure I can come up with something appropriate,” he murmured against her lips. “First, though, I’m famished. Is there any of that baked ziti left?” he asked, dragging her along with him as he headed for the kitchen.

“You made enough to feed half the Hogwarts’ student body, so I think that leftovers are a given,” Hermione noted. “You didn’t have an opportunity to eat at the restaurant?”

He shook his head in reply, then opened the refrigerator to retrieve the casserole for magical reheating. “No, on top of the issue with the dairy supplier, it was exceptionally busy tonight, so I rolled up my sleeves and helped out in the kitchen for a couple of hours. When it gets colder outside, our clientele increases pretty dramatically. We learned that lesson the hard way in Salem. If this cold snap continues, I’ll hire another two or three people to help out.”

“Should we make another donation to the foundation?” she asked.

“I give regular donations, but it’s not really necessary,” Draco told her. “The system has been pretty much self-sustaining almost from the first. The paying customers have come to understand the mission very quickly and they’ve been extraordinarily generous. Any profits are just rolled back into the charitable side of the house. My account manager at Gringotts still doesn’t understand that bit at all, but it’s working exactly as I hoped it would.”

“The review of the menu and food quality in the Daily Prophet last week was glowing, as you well know, so I’d suppose that has helped to boost foot traffic,” she hypothesized.

Taking a generous scoop of the hot casserole and dumping it into his plate, Draco confirmed her guess. “Yes, it’s been increasing steadily since we opened six weeks ago, but we definitely noticed a bigger jump after the review was published.” He sat at the table and tucked in, gratefully accepting the glass of red wine that Hermione had poured for him. “Want a bite?” he offered, indicating the mound of pasta before him.

“Gods, no! I did plenty of damage at dinner and I’m still stuffed,” she professed. “Maybe just a little glass of wine, though.” She retrieved a stem and poured some for herself, draining the last of the bottle by topping off Draco’s glass, too.

He nodded his thanks and tipped his glass in tribute. “Your idea about doing a profile story is a great one, also. We’re coordinating with one of the Prophet’s feature writers, who will include the Grapevine in the story as well. In fact, I heard from both Bob and Marcel yesterday, and they’d received requests for interviews from the writer. I’m hoping that it will be published before the end of the month,” he said.

“That would be wonderful. It would also help deflect any potential attention from the other things we’re planning,” she noted.

“Hadn’t thought of that, specifically, but you’re right. Good point,” he agreed, taking another sip of wine. He paused for a moment then met her gaze again. “Have you decided who, if anyone, you’re going to inform?”

Hermione sighed dramatically. “I’d thought about telling Ginny, but if I told her without benefit of an Unbreakable Vow, I know she’d find a way to tell Neville, who’d find a way to tell Harry, who’d never even consider keeping Luna in the dark, and before you know it, half of Wizarding Britain would have their noses in our business. That being the case, I think I decided to keep it entirely to myself,” she concluded. “You?”

“No chance in hell that I’m risking it,” he stated emphatically. “Only the solicitor knows, and he is committed by the Vow, so until we inform the handful of other people directly involved, everything stays under wraps.”

“And you’ve already made the preliminary arrangements, but they won’t know the whys and wherefores until that week,” she recounted.

“Yes, and many of the other details could apply to any number of situations, so we’re safe on that angle,” he confirmed.

Hermione pushed her chair back and moved toward Draco, who sat up a little straighter in his seat as she swung one leg over his lap, straddling and trapping him in place. He grinned at her impishly and said, “You’re getting between a man and his dinner, witch. Are you sure that’s a wise idea?”

She scooted a little closer and said, “And I know this man well enough to be pretty certain that there are other appetites that I could entice him to sate.”

“Good point, yet again,” he agreed, eyes twinkling and lips twitching. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her flush against him, capturing her mouth in a hungry kiss while he caressed her back and trailed his hands down to her hips. He grunted when her incessant wiggling ensured that she was making direct contact with the erection that he’d made no effort to hide.

“Want to go upstairs?” she murmured breathlessly when he pulled away from her lips to get some air.

“Oh, yeah,” he said with a growl, standing up and lifting her into his arms in one fluid move.

XXXXX

Ten Weeks Earlier

Draco and Hermione had settled into an easy routine rather quickly, sharing household duties, spending time with Louisa, and carving out at least two hours of private time each day in the two weeks since Hermione had moved into the townhouse. As companionably as they’d cooperated over the past few months, the close proximity and intentional efforts at mutual discovery had resulted in the pair finding more common interests, opinions, and goals.

As their partnership in managing the household and in parenting Louisa grew, so did their emotional connection. They confided their fears, hopes, anxieties, and dreams to each other as they worked on their commitment to test the possibilities of a full relationship. Were anyone aware of the odd circumstances that had brought them to sharing their home, they would be surprised to learn that the pair rarely discussed the decree or what they planned to do about it. The topic had been indefinitely shelved as they focused their energies on their potential for the future.

Both of them had readily admitted their physical attraction, and despite the awkwardness of their early, tentative steps toward intimacy, they worked toward finding a happy balance in keeping each other interested and satisfied. That problem was solved when their emotional closeness blossomed to the point that more intimate contact was simply a natural extension of their genuine desire to connect on more levels. The real breakthrough, though, had come about three weeks after Hermione and Louisa had moved in…

“Maybe I should transfigure the sofa to be a little deeper,” Hermione suggested through her giggles as Draco attempted to get up off the floor with some degree of his dignity intact.

“Fortunately, the only thing really wounded is my pride,” he said dryly. “Unless we’re literally on top of one another, the sofa isn’t quite wide enough to accommodate us.” He rubbed absently at his backside, which had taken the brunt of the impact.

“Maybe we could, uh, use one of the two large beds that are each less than twenty feet away,” she proposed cautiously. The fact that they were both naked from the waist up should probably have made her slightly less apprehensive, Draco mused. He tugged her toward him and kissed her thoroughly, running his hands over her ribs and moving them up to caress the sides of her breasts.

“I’ve rarely heard a better idea,” he drawled. “Your place or mine?” His eyes were dark and hooded with desire and he couldn’t help but notice that her breath was coming in rapid puffs and pants.

Rather than answer him, she took his hand and guided him toward her bedroom, the fact that she was escorting him in allowing the room’s protective magic to recognize her implicit permission for him to enter. When they crossed the threshold, she turned to face him and, taking both of his hands in hers, walked backward until the backs of her thighs collided with her bed. She leaned back, taking Draco with her as she fell onto the down-covered surface.

Draco crawled up her body, slowly trailing open-mouthed kisses from her navel to her neck. Making his way along her jaw, he finally captured her lips and growled lustily when she immediately opened for him, massaging his tongue with as much enthusiasm and intensity as he brought to her. Draco shifted closer so that his weight was pressed against her, gently anchoring her to the bed and to reality. He rubbed his leg slowly and sensuously against hers and grasped her hip, flexing his fingers as though he couldn’t hold on to her securely enough to prevent her from slipping away like a dream in the night.

Soon, the need for air along with the imperative to clearly understand what was off limits and what wasn’t caused Draco to draw back slightly. He caressed her cheek with the back of his finger and gazed at her, his heart full and pounding. “What do you want, Hermione?” he asked in a deep, throaty whisper.

She lifted a hand to brush away a few strands of platinum hair that had fallen across his forehead. Her expression seemed as intense as his own, and she smiled at him seductively. Finally, she spoke, “I want to touch you, and I want you to touch me. I want us to take care of each other. I want to see stars, and I want to send you over the edge into sweet oblivion.” She paused to kiss him with obvious passion. “What do you want, Draco?”

“I want to taste you and touch you and make you scream in ecstasy,” he said, then bent to take a nipple into his mouth, suckling deeply. When she gasped, he swirled his tongue and increased the suction. She grabbed for his shoulders and held on, kneading the muscles from his neck to his deltoids as he paid homage to each breast in turn. When her gasps turned to panting, Draco stopped for a moment, his hand splayed across her abdomen. “Just to be clear, Hermione. We can play to our hearts’ content, but no intercourse, right?” he sought her confirmation and consent.

“Yes, Draco, for now, no limits except intercourse. Gods, I need to touch you,” she said, the moan in her voice nearly overwhelming her words. “Please, let me…” she begged, raking her nails lightly down his bare chest until she reached his belt. The trail of fine blond hair that began at his navel pointed the way to the treasure she sought, and he felt the play of her fingers over the sensitive line. A moment later, she was working his belt out of its buckle and taking on his zipper as though what lay beneath held the source of all knowledge and perfection. He bit back a chuckle at her eagerness as much as at the thought that he viewed her hidden treasures in exactly the same way.

Draco sucked in a breath and contracted the muscles of his abdomen to ensure that his fully engorged organ wouldn’t fall victim to the evil metal teeth that kept him contained for the moment. He soon found that there was no need to worry; although it was clear that she was anxious to relieve him of his clothing – as he was for her – her ministrations were deliberate and gentle. While her hand brushed tantalizingly against his length, she did not yet grasp him. Instead, she murmured his name, her eyes beseeching him to understand her need. His instinct told him to follow the lead she had established and he reached for the button at the top of her woolen trousers. He deftly pushed the disk through its hole and slowly drew down the tab of her zipper. He opened the placket and leaned in to kiss the satiny skin that was exposed above her light blue silk knickers. He breathed in her scent, then traced a line from one hip to the other with the tip of his tongue. When she lifted her hips off the bed, he assumed, accurately, that she was inviting him to remove her trousers. Grasping the waistband, he obliged, pulling the garment over her hips and bum, down her thighs, over her knees and ankles, until she was completely free of them. He tossed them over the side of the bed and allowed his eyes to graze over her slim and shapely legs, his hand gently following the same path as he leaned in for a kiss.

A moment later, Hermione reached down to remove her thin socks, dropping them to join her trousers on the floor. She then turned back to Draco and said cheekily, “Yours need to go, too. D’you need a hand?”

He cocked an eyebrow in reply and smiled lopsidedly. “While I could do it quicker, I’m quite certain it would be significantly more enjoyable if you help.”

She moved closer to kneel at his side and reached inside his open zipper to trail her fingers gently along his hips, focusing attention on the dimples where his abdominal muscles met his pelvis. He groaned under her touch and he hoped that she recognized the power she held over him; he was putty in her hands. Draco began to squirm with the sensitivity that her sensual massage created, and it seemed that she decided to take pity on the poor sod when she moved her hands to grab the top of his trousers in the same way he had with hers moment earlier. With the assist of his lifted hips, she managed to successfully divest Draco of the suddenly offensive piece of clothing, its heinous crime having been to separate Hermione from her prize.

Like Hermione had done, Draco reached down and removed his own socks, tossing them to join the small pile of clothing on the floor and, suddenly, the realization struck that the pair was dressed only in underwear bottoms. Draco gulped audibly and took a moment to appreciate the woman stretched out on the bed beside him. “I’m… you… overwhelming,” he stuttered, his hand trembling slightly as he reached out for her.

They both rolled to their sides, facing each other and wrapping themselves around each other. Arms and legs entwined as their tongues tangled, and the pressure in Draco’s groin had built to a nearly unbearable level. Subconsciously seeking relief, he thrust his hips, so tightly pressed against Hermione’s, and he heard her moan when she felt the heat of his length make contact with her abdomen. She responded with a buck of her pelvis and by definitively pulling his hips even closer. There was no millimeter of space between them as they melded together.

Draco felt as though every fiber of his body was vibrating. Although he and Hermione had been cautiously exploring their physical relationship, this was a major leap forward, and he was as anxious about pleasing her as he was about not embarrassing himself. The one key lesson they’d both learned, not just in the four weeks or so that they’d begun to test the viability of a real relationship, but throughout the friendship that had been fostered over several months, was that they were strongest and most connected when they were honest in sharing their feelings and concerns. In this vulnerable position, he knew that it would likely serve him better to be open with his heart than to conceal his trepidations.

“Are you as nervous about this as I am?” he mumbled against her shoulder, maintaining contact as he stroked his long, thin fingers along her spine.

She relaxed her hold so that their clinch was slightly less desperate. “A little anxious, maybe, and eager, but I’m not sure that I’d call it nervousness. Why, Draco? What are you nervous about?” Her tone was nothing less than loving and supportive.

Draco smiled crookedly and relaxed a bit. “I’m a guy. Performance anxiety, I guess,” he confessed. “I want this to be about how I feel about you, but it’s been so long… I’m afraid I’ll, uh…”

Hermione interrupted his muttering with a chuckle, but there was nothing unkind in it. “Draco, two things to keep in mind. First, it’s been just as long for me and I’m as interested in this reflecting my feelings for you as you are for me. Second, you’re twenty-five, not sixty-five. I’m assuming that means you can recover quickly, should that be required or desirable.” She hesitated for a moment, then continued in a whisper, “This is about learning each other. We’re allowed to experiment, and we’re allowed to be imperfect. As long as we do whatever we do lovingly, nothing else matters.”

He wrapped his arms around her fully and tightly. “You are an amazing and wonderful woman, Hermione Granger, and I love you desperately.”

“Oh, Draco,” she began, looking directly into his eyes and tracing the contours of his face with her fingers, “you have somehow managed to show me that you are exactly the man that I want and need. You first captured my attention when you showed me your strength, your resolve, and your resilience. Then, you captured my affection with your friendship, your kindness, and your generous spirit. Finally, you’ve captured my heart with your devotion to me and Louisa, your immense sensitivity, and your inspiring perseverance. I have to admit that it doesn’t hurt that I think you’re incredibly handsome and dead sexy, especially when you’re so honest and vulnerable with me. What I’m trying to say is that, somewhere along this journey, I’ve fallen for you, and I can’t imagine spending the rest of my life without you. I love you, too,” she finally confessed, punctuating her words with a kiss that left no doubt about its motivation.

Draco looked at her with awe and reverence, and the sensitive soul that had been so tortured for so many years finally felt its fractures heal. He was convinced that, emotionally, there had never been a more perfect moment in his life, when nothing pained him, when no worries weighed him down, when everything was possible, and when every dream had come true. He opened his mouth to speak, closing it again when he knew that there were no words adequate to what he felt in that moment, and he simply held Hermione as close as he could, saying with his embrace everything that filled his heart.

They remained in that blissful bubble for several long moments, and the tenor of their earlier frenzy changed rather drastically. Languid kisses and lingering touches led to gentle exploration that was far more sensual than simply sexual. Draco moved them to a new level when he removed his boxers and then watched in silence as she responded by slipping off her own scrap of blue silk.

“Merlin,” he said, raking his eyes hungrily over her body, “I want to touch every inch of you.”

It was Hermione, however, who was first to reach out with a truly intimate touch, and she tenderly ran her fingers along his length, circling his glans with her thumb and spreading the bead of moisture that had gathered at his tip. He hissed in pleasure and reached for her, desperate to feel her core.

The slickness he found as he dipped a gentle finger between her folds gave evidence that she was as aroused as he was, and he probed her slit slowly, learning her contours and finding the places that seemed to bring her the greatest pleasure, finally concentrating on her bud with increasing pressure, moving his thumb in decreasing circles until he could feel her shivering beside him.

“Tell me what you like. Is this good?” he asked.

“It’s exquisite,” she said through a gasp, pulling his head in to encourage his lips to meet hers.

Draco kissed her deeply, flicking his tongue across the roof of her mouth and eliciting another tremor. Hermione responded in kind, then rolled onto her back, urging Draco over to again feel the comfort of his weight against her body. While the position made it more difficult for her to maintain her hold on his erection, it was apparent that Draco had other ideas, anyway, as he moved down her body after only a few moments’ embrace.

“Not yet, sweet. There’s much more of you I want to explore, first,” he said, delaying his own gratification.

On his knees like a prowling panther, he nipped and nibbled his way from her chin to her neck, soothing each spot with his tongue where his teeth had grazed her skin. He continued his journey over her collarbones and décolletage, further down to pay special attention to her breasts as she arched into his touch. He heard her utter encouragements and endearments as she reached for her own desperate contact with his shoulders, arms, and silky blond hair, the only parts of him she could reach in their current position.

When he shifted further down, he lifted her right knee, opening up her center. He was now almost totally out of her reach, but it was evident that he was more intent on his goal than he was on finding his own pleasure. He settled between her legs, resting his head on her left thigh for a few moments as he explored her core with his delicate and sensuous touch. He made eye contact with her then to ensure that his obvious intention was welcome. Her content smile told him that she was completely accepting of the direction he had chosen. With tiny nips and open kisses along the tender skin of her inner thighs, Draco made his way to her center, gently parting her labia with his thumbs and finally using the tip of his tongue to taste her. His pleasured moan was at least as intense and dramatic as hers, and he took her response as his cue to fully engage. He licked, sucked, nibbled, and teased until her squirming and bucking made it clear that she was ready for release. He focused his attention on her clit, lapping at it with the broad flat of his tongue, then circling it tightly with the tip, sucking it into his mouth and flicking it rapidly.

“I could live on tasting nothing else but you for the rest of my life. Sweeter than honey, you are,” he murmured against her core, creating more vibration that had her hips bucking off the bed.

When her gasping turned more rapid, Draco breached her entrance and curled his finger inside her core, massaging the rough patch on the top wall with deliberate pressure.

Again he whispered to her, “Come for me, love. I want to see you come.”

It was only seconds more before Hermione convulsed in orgasm, calling out his name in her ecstasy. When her breathing started to settle into more normal rhythm, she tugged him up to rest fully atop her body. She initiated a deep kiss, and he was only a bit surprised that she seemed to enjoy tasting herself on his lips. The intimacy of it was exhilarating.

It didn’t take more than a few seconds for her to work her hand between their flush bodies to grasp his erection. He grunted as she encircled his organ with a tight fist, stroking upwards firmly and squeezing as she came into contact with the spongy head. He was surprised at her strength as she pushed on his shoulder to turn him onto his back. Her smile was sultry as she whispered, “Lay back and get comfy.”

He grabbed the pillow on which Hermione’s head had been tossing moments earlier and folded it under his neck. Whatever she planned to do, he wanted to witness every second of it. He was not held in suspense for very long.

She kneeled beside him and rested on her haunches as she continued to slowly stroke his straining length. “Is that all right? Am I gripping you the way you like?” she asked, no shyness or hesitation evident anywhere in her tone or manner.

He grunted loudly, his voice shaky and hoarse when he said, “If it were any better, it’d be over. Perfect, love, truly.”

He was so fully engorged that his penis had taken on a nearly purple hue. Only the relief that he felt as she tugged on him ensured that his pleasure had not turned to pain. While she had told him that it had been literally years since she’d been with a man, it was clear to him that she’d not lost her touch. She knew exactly where to apply pressure, where to use a lighter touch, and the optimal grip and speed to keep his pleasure at a constant high. Either that, or he had the great fortune that her instincts matched perfectly with his preferences.

“Oh, yeah, just like that. Ungnnggg,” he ground out insensibly.

She continued to slowly and deliberately work his erection with one hand and reached between his parted thighs to gently roll and tug on his scrotum with the other. He groaned deeply at the intensity of the touch and she took his cue as a request to continue exactly what she was doing.

“You keep that up, love, and it won’t be long,” he warned.

She leaned forward then, placing a kiss along his shaft as her hand kept up its steady stroke. She skimmed her tongue against the thick vein that pulsed on the underside, trailing up to his head and swirling it in a warm, wet circle around the circumference. She opened wide, then, and took his head fully into her mouth, humming a note low in her throat, causing a delicious vibration.

Pulling away for a moment to give him a brief respite, Hermione whispered against his organ, punctuating her words with little flicks. “Mmm, I love your scent, your taste, the feel of you on my tongue.”

With the last of his cognitive ability, he mustered the thought that the woman was a genius of multi-tasking as she returned fully to her undertaking, simultaneously keeping up the gentle rolling of his sac, the steady pumping of his shaft, and the suction she’d begun to apply to his head.

He felt the relentless pressure building in his groin and tried to adjust his breathing and concentration so that things wouldn’t end too abruptly. It was a mighty struggle, especially when she decided to take his shaft more fully into her mouth, slowly moving up and down with both suction and feather-light brushes of her tongue. She squeezed the base of his penis, giving him a moment’s reprieve from an imminent orgasm. Although his brain was barely engaged in anything but the sensations of pleasure, there was some part of him that recognized that the only thing that could make the moment better would be by touching her. When he reached out, he was thrilled to find that she was close enough that he could reach her center and he gently teased her clit until she was writhing as much as he was. Her moans and gasps had the unanticipated effect of intensifying the vibrations against his organ. It all became too much to control and he croaked out a warning to her, “Gonna come, love.”

It seemed that she intended to disregard his caution as she nodded her head around his cock and made direct eye contact. That was more than enough, and he came with a shout and an involuntary thrust of his hips. She didn’t let him go, swallowing his seed and milking him through each wave until she, too, came around his probing fingers, panting heavily over his spent organ.

It took a few seconds for both of them to recover their senses enough for conscious movement, but when they did, they collapsed together in a tangle of limbs and tongues, interrupted only with murmured words of love. Both were asleep short minutes later, but neither relinquished their hold on the other throughout the night.

Hermione had risen first the next morning, the imperative to get to work on time forcing her to abandon the man in her bed far earlier than she’d have preferred. Draco woke to the sounds of her showering and looked at the clock. He knew that she’d need to move quickly to get to work on time. He opened the door and said, “Good morning, love.”

Over the rush of water, she replied, “Good morning to you, too. I’m so sorry I had to get out of bed, but I can’t be late this morning. I have an early patient.”

“Not a problem, sweet. I’ll just throw something on for now and get Louisa up. Breakfast will be ready when you come downstairs,” he said. He fell silent for a moment, nor sure what else he should say. It had been a pivotal night for them, and he prayed that she hadn’t regretted it. He heard the water shut off and saw the shower door sliding open.

Hermione didn’t rush to wrap the large bath towel around her body and her expression when she saw him hesitating near the door was one of joy and contentment. She allayed his fears entirely when she tiptoed cautiously on still-wet feet to the door and tilted her head up to capture his lips in a brief but intense kiss. “I love you, Draco, and we’ll talk more tonight. For now, though, I need you to get your cute arse in gear and help me get out of the house on time.” She winked at him, then pushed him out of the room as he stood there looking gobsmacked.

“Yes, dear, anything you need,” he promised, adding, “I love you, too,” before finally leaving her to finish her ablutions. The frenzy of a typical morning then took over and forty minutes later, he was left to his own thoughts as he blithely replayed the momentous events of the previous night and the future they might portend.

True to their promises, they had had a long and emotional conversation that night, reaffirming their commitment to work steadily on building their connections and reiterating the truth of their feelings for each other. It was Draco who first broached the topic of the looming deadline, something they hadn’t discussed since their decision to live in the townhouse together.

“We’re about a quarter of the way through to the decision closing date, and I’m not looking for an answer by any means, but I want you to know that if we had no decree hanging over our heads to force the issue, I would still want you to be my wife. I’m also not exactly proposing right now, but I want to be completely clear that that’s my intention. I’ll wait until you tell me you’re more ready for a deeper discussion about it. No pressure, Hermione, just the truth about what’s in my heart and what I’d like to do about it.”

She had caressed his cheek, running her thumb over his lips and then leaning in with a gentle and heartfelt kiss. “I don’t feel any pressure, Draco, at least not of any negative sort. What I do feel is anticipation. I feel like our future is hanging out there over the horizon, just waiting for us to step up and grab it. I think it’s too soon to do that today, but I also feel that it won’t be very long before I’ll be ready to hear your proposal and to accept it gladly. I think we should keep moving forward for the next month or so, spending more time together, and staying close. Unless there’s a compelling reason to do so, I think we shouldn’t talk about the decree for that time,” she suggested. “Let’s just… be.”

Draco had agreed and they sealed their pact with languorous kisses. He had, however, been flabbergasted with her parting comment, which had been delivered as she crossed the threshold of her bedroom, that very fact altering the inherent magic in the room. “Draco, love, I want you to know that you are always welcome in my room, and in my bed,” she invited. When she turned, giggling, to enter her sanctuary, he had hastened to follow. It had been an immensely enjoyable night.

 

Six Weeks Later

She fell back on the pillow with a groan, feeling at once sated and frustrated. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up, Draco,” she whined, far more petulantly than the situation required, he thought.

He responded with a snigger, to which she replied by grabbing another pillow and whopping him with it.

“It’s not all that funny,” she said with a pout.

“Believe me, Hermione, there’s no one who understands and sympathizes with you more than I do. I’m feeling the same need.” He snuggled up to her back, spooning her tightly before continuing in a whisper, “And as much as I am absolutely dying to bury my cock inside your delicious pussy, I will not violate our agreement.” He grunted when she pushed back against his newly prominent erection. “What recovery time?” he scoffed mentally.

“That was a close call earlier,” she commented, and he thought it was a toss-up whether she was referring to the near-miss when she’d, in her haze of arousal, nearly impaled herself on his engorged length or the fact that their daughter had nearly walked in on them in a most compromising position a couple of hours earlier. Draco chose to deal with the Louisa debacle first.

“Yeah, the interruption from the munchkin was my fault. I forgot to set the notification wards on the doors to the suite, and of course, this is the one night in weeks that she has a scary dream. I think I was able to cast the Disillusion Charm in time. She would certainly have said something if she’d seen me in the bed. And how you ever got that dressing gown on is beyond me, but I think we managed to protect our secret,” he suggested hopefully.

She rolled her eyes and snorted in a decidedly unladylike manner. “Let’s not talk about the incident in the dining room, then,” she observed.

He hissed through his teeth in an audible wince. “Ooh, yeah. Forgot about that one. I can’t imagine a reason that she’d bring it up. It was on Monday, so she’ll have forgotten all about it by the time Sunday rolls around,” he said optimistically.

“She asked me three times what you were doing under the table. She clearly didn’t buy the ‘dropped fork’ story,” Hermione said with a smirk.

“Well, I blame it all on you,” Draco deflected with a lusty chuckle. “Wearing skirts without knickers, Miss Granger, is deliberately provocative.” He tsked at her teasingly.

She snickered in response and said, “Guilty as charged. But, Mister Malfoy, that other close call is something we need to talk about.”

Their mutually lighthearted mood shifted to solemnity in a heartbeat, but the topic really did require discussion. Draco started with another apology.

“I’m sorry, Hermione. We absolutely got a bit carried away, and I know that it’s natural and normal, but I need to keep tighter control. I let you down, and I can’t let that happen,” he said contritely.

She turned over in his embrace so that they were face to face, shaking her head. “It’s not your responsibility, love. It’s our responsibility. I was pushing the limits as much as you were, probably more. What we need to talk about is why it’s happening and where we go from here,” she proposed.

He sighed shakily. “You’re probably right, love. We’ve been playing with fire for almost two months, and as I said earlier, the temptation to take you is always lurking just under the surface.”

“Please, Draco,” she scoffed. “I’m no better. Who was on top of whom? I was controlling the pace this time. We’ve been tempting fate with the ways we’ve been playing. If I’m going to keep using your penis like I’d use a vibrator against my privates, the potential for that beautiful beast to find its way to the inside rather than the surface is damned high.” She paused and seemed to be considering how to broach the remainder of her thought process. “Draco, we’ve obviously moved forward substantially from where we were a couple of months ago. I think we’re reaching the point where we need to make some decisions,” she finally stated.

He was quiet for a few moments, absorbing what she’d said and weighing his response. “You know that there are consequences and complexities in making this decision,” he cautioned.

“I do,” she replied firmly. “I’m ready, Draco.”

He nodded gravely and looked deeply into her eyes. He then captured both of her hands in his, holding them against his chest. His voice was thick with emotion when he finally spoke. “Hermione, I know that I’ve hurt you many times, most grievously, in the years we’ve known each other. I’ve tried to atone for my sins, and I beg your forgiveness once more for any wrongs that I’ve committed against you.”

She silenced him with a kiss before he could continue, then said, “You’ve had my forgiveness for a very long time, Draco. Since we discovered while we were at Ted and Andy’s cottage what had caused your aberrant behavior, you’ve had my understanding and empathy, too.”

He returned her kiss and replied, “Thank you, Hermione, for that unfathomable gift.” He took another breath and began to speak again. “I think I’ve loved and admired you on some level since we were barely twelve or thirteen years old. I know that the years since then have brought serious trials to both of us and that my actions had more far-reaching consequences that either of us ever could have imagined. One of those was Louisa’s birth. I know we didn’t conceive her in love, but you must know how much I cherish our little girl. I’d gladly forfeit my own life for either of you, and I hope you understand that I consider her the greatest gift you’ve ever given me. I’m a different man today than I was three years ago. I know my heart and soul had a lot of damage, but I also know that you’ve played an enormous and vital role in helping me to heal. If you’d let me, I’ll spend the next hundred years finding ways to express my gratitude for that, but more importantly, I want to spend the rest of my life sharing my heart with you, loving you, taking care of you and our daughter. I know I’ve told you several times that I love you. But the truth is that I’ve never been able – probably never will be able – to put into words how deeply you are embedded into my heart and soul. If you’ll allow me to, the only thing I can think to do is spend the rest of my time on this earth trying to show you. Will you marry me, Hermione?”

Somewhere in the middle of Draco’s soliloquy, Hermione’s eyes had filled with tears. Since they were accompanied by a smile that he could only call beatific, he chose to conclude that she was not upset or unhappy, but simply touched. He wiped her cheeks with his thumbs and held his breath as he waited for a response to his proposal.

Hermione sniffed through her smile, grasped Draco’s face in her hands, and drew him close for a wet, hiccupy kiss. She pulled back and gazed into his eyes. “I will marry you, and I want you to hear this well, Draco. There’s no more atoning to be done, at least not with me. I have been astounded as I have watched your growth over the last several months as a man, a leader, and a father. You’ve taught me so much, too. Since we’ve become close, I’ve learned that I need to look beneath the surface of things to find the best surprises. I’ve discovered that life isn’t so black and white, but gray isn’t the only other alternative. You showed me how to open my heart to new possibilities, and I’ve been stunned time and again by your creativity, your immense sensitivity, and your enormous capacity to love. You’ve been the most incredible, wonderful gift in my life, and I’m looking forward to a lifetime of unwrapping every complex, intriguing layer. So, my love, how do you want to do this?”

Draco was speechless for a moment, then collided with her in a desperate exchange of emotion made manifest in breathless kisses and tender touches. When their embrace threatened to become more heated, though, he pulled back, determined that they would not succumb to the moment without making a deliberate decision.

After one more capture of her lips for good measure, Draco said, “I can’t imagine ever being happier than I am right now, except for the moment I take you as my wife. And we really need to determine how we want that to happen.”

Hermione nodded her agreement first, then added, “We should. The decree makes things both simple and somehow sterile. The idea of us being married just by making love has its merits in the cosmic sense, but that would mean capitulating to your parents’ manipulations. As much as I desperately want to make love with you, there’s something about the principle of the thing that rankles.”

Draco breathed a sigh of relief. “Merlin, I was hoping you’d view it that way. Make no mistake, I’m as eager as a man can be to be with you, but it’s equally important to me that we do this on our terms. I would like us to speak our vows to each other and complete a bonding ceremony before we physically consummate our marriage, not the other way around,” he requested.

Hermione’s expression was one of amusement when she answered him. “You know, it’s really ironic that the decree’s intention was to essentially trick or trap us into marriage if we found ourselves attracted to each other. If you think about it, the chances of that plan succeeding were pretty unlikely, given the circumstances. That we’ve turned it around so that we’re actually being more technically traditional in the order of things is actually pretty funny. I like the idea, but let’s figure out how to do this to best meet our wishes.”

Draco smiled broadly and said, “I’ve been doing some thinking – well, hoping and imagining – about that and I have a couple of ideas that I’d like to offer. Tell me what you think of this…”

It hadn’t taken Draco more than five minutes to lay out the plan that had been percolating in his head for several days, and Hermione had been delighted and thrilled by it. Within just a couple of days, they had contacted a solicitor to help them deal with the legal elements of their decision and they had divided up the remaining logistics between them. Since they had determined that their bonding would come before the end of the year – falling just days after the deadline for a dissolution request but well before the decree’s six-month end date – the preparations for their very simple wedding would still need to move along quickly.

Sunday Brunch, Twenty-Seven Days and Counting

“Think you can keep a straight face?” Hermione asked in a whisper as she, her fiancé, and their daughter stepped out of the Floo and into Malfoy Manor’s family access point. They were alone for the moment and took a few seconds to remove their traveling cloaks and finalize their strategy for the visit.

Draco twisted his lips in a grin and coughed to cover a laugh. “I’m more than capable of a couple of hours’ subterfuge,” he professed. “What I’m more worried about, to be frank, is whether the munchkin will say something that spills the beans.”

Hermione scoffed at the idea. “We’ve been extraordinarily cautious around her lately, and she now accepts us kissing as the normal state of things, thus not worthy of notice. I’ve not been wearing my ring on my left hand, and even if I had, a three-year-old wouldn’t understand the significance.”

“My daughter is immensely more intelligent and observant than the average three-year-old, however,” he reminded her proudly. Glancing at her hand, he saw that she’d either Disillusioned the lovely sapphire and diamond ring he’d given her, or she was wearing it on a chain around her neck, as she did periodically.

“Well, you’re not wrong there, but still, I feel sure that we’ve been discreet enough that it won’t cause any issues,” she reassured him quietly. “We’ve only got less than four weeks to go. Next weekend is her birthday celebration, so that will deflect attention, too. We’ll be fine, as long as they don’t try to slip Veritaserum into our food again.”

“Are you going to cast the diagnostic charm this time, or am I?” he asked.

“I’ll do it. You focus on looking for other enchantments; you’re much quicker at that than I am,” she recommended. They’d both acknowledged that the protective measures were sad but necessary as it became increasingly clear that Draco’s parents were desperate for any news they could find about the status of the couple’s relationship. Draco had reasonably suggested that that had meant that they’d done an adequate job thus far of keeping their plans private.

The meal had been stiffly polite, reasonably pleasant and, thankfully, free of magical interference. Only when they were finished did Lucius try to engineer an intervention of sorts by inviting Draco to his study on the premise of his need to review several statements and files on the family’s business interests.

Draco made himself comfortable in the leather wingback chair that was a twin to the one on the opposite side of the mahogany table where his father had stacked several folios. Before taking his own seat, Lucius poured two fingers of Old Ogden’s, neat, into a crystal tumbler and offered the same to his son.

“No, thank you, Father. I’d rather we just proceed with whatever charade you’ve decided to play out this afternoon.” While his words could have been biting, they were delivered in a calm and matter-of-fact tone. Draco observed his father’s shoulders drop just the tiniest fraction of an inch and almost allowed himself to experience a frisson of guilt at having caused some disconsolation to the man. Although he clearly recognized – and appreciated deeply – that both of his parents had sacrificed greatly and given freely to help him find his way back into the world, the utterly tone-deaf sin that they had committed, however well-intentioned it may have been, could not be allowed to stand without its own consequences. It had been a betrayal of the highest order, even though its goal had been relatively benign. The manipulation was the crime for which the elder man and his wife would have to pay a price.

It had only been Hermione’s intervention that had caused Draco to finally agree that, as soon as their marriage was formally bonded, they would begin to work toward a more normal state of affairs with his parents, each hopeful that the relationship could be repaired to its former warmth.

“Very well,” Lucius answered with a defeated sigh. He waved his hand toward the folios on the table that separated them and said, “Those are your copies of the trust account summaries and reconciliations for the month of October. Let me know if you need clarification on any of the transactions.”

Draco lifted the stack and fanned through them with a thumb. “These are mine and Louisa’s?” he confirmed.

“Hermione’s, too. Since you are sharing a home, I assume that I can trust you to see that she gets whatever documents apply to her,” Lucius jabbed.

“I will not engage with you on the topic of Hermione, Father,” Draco said simply. “And you should not assume anything. I will, however, see to it that she receives any documentation that she requires.”

“Damn it, Draco!” Lucius shouted, slapping a hand on the table in frustration. “Can you give me no insight into what is going on in your lives, of not for my sake, then for your mother’s?”

Draco couldn’t ever recall hearing his father come so close to begging. He, however, remained impassive. “I’m sorry, Father, but the pair of you relinquished your right to insight when you had the unmitigated gall to try to interfere in that relationship, whatever it may or may not be. The decisions we make are between the two of us, and you will learn of them in due time. However you look at it, you have no more than three months to wait. We’ve just passed the half-way point, if I’m not mistaken, so it’s all downhill from here.”

The elder wizard growled in irritation but it did not appear to sway his son. “I’ll give you this,” he eventually uttered, “you’ve finally learned to keep a secret.”

“I learned from the best, Father,” Draco replied, falling silent as his the elder wizard stewed in his self-induced misery.

In the sunroom, Narcissa chattered happily with her granddaughter, asking her what kind of cake and pudding she wanted for her up-coming birthday celebration and inquiring about her activities for the previous week at her new daycare facility.

The precocious toddler decided on chocolate for everything, causing Narcissa to remark how like her father she was in her taste preferences, and told story after story about new friends that she’d made and new words and games that she’d learned.

When Hermione observed that Narcissa’s strength had seemed to further improve along with the pace of her speech, now virtually indistinguishable from her pre-accident condition, the elder witch remarked that Lucius had been particularly diligent encouraging her to complete her therapeutic regimen.

“Not that Draco wasn’t, of course,” she noted, “but he sometimes would hesitate to push me if he saw me tiring. Lucius has no such compunction, but while it’s sometimes been challenging, it has also pushed me past a plateau on which I’d been stuck for a few weeks.”

“It sounds, then, that it’s actually been a blessing in disguise that we moved to the townhouse. You might not have had as complete a recovery if we had stayed,” Hermione suggested.

“I’d have gladly sacrificed my progress to have the three of you still here,” Narcissa professed quietly but firmly.

“You and I both know that it’s really for the best. If we had stayed, your relationship with Draco might have been damaged beyond repair. The space that this separation has given him will be more likely to allow a reconciliation once the situation has… stabilized.”

“And I suppose that it would be too much to ask if I were to inquire about the status of that situation?” Narcissa attempted.

Hermione sighed sadly. “I’m sorry, Narcissa, but you know I won’t discuss this with you now. Draco is so angry, still, at what he views as a betrayal of the worst sort. It’s been all I can do to ensure that he attends these family brunches every week. All I will tell you now is that he and I have made a decision. You and Lucius will need to bide your time until we are ready to share it with you.” Hermione reached out and took the woman’s hand. “Please, Narcissa, you know I love you, but don’t ask me about this again.”

They had stayed for another hour, leaving with promises to return the following weekend for Louisa’s birthday celebration to which Narcissa had invited what seemed like half of Wizarding Britain.

Back in the foyer of the townhouse, Draco set Louisa down on her feet and she wasted no time in heading for the stairs. It seemed that there would be no argument today in getting his princess to take her afternoon nap. “I’ll get her settled in and then we can sit and talk,” he said.

“Okay, love,” she answered, leaning in for a quick kiss before he dashed off after their surprisingly fast-moving tot. She shook her head in amusement, removed her cloak and tugged off her boots, then headed toward the kitchen to put a kettle on for tea. By the time Draco came back downstairs, Louisa already well on her way to slumber, the water had come to a boil and the tea was steeping.

“A snack with your tea, Draco?” Hermione offered.

“No, I’m fine,” he answered with a smile, stepping behind her to wrap his arms around her waist as she finished adding sugar to her brew. She’d worn her hair up for the day and he loved that he could reach that sensitive spot behind her left ear unimpeded.

She chuckled as he nibbled. “You keep that up and the tea will get cold,” she warned.

“Least of my concerns,” he murmured against her neck, the smile evident in his tone.

“So, did Lucius grill you as much as Narcissa grilled me?” she asked, turning in his arms and leaning back toward the counter while he pressed forward against her.

Draco rolled his eyes. “It was utterly transparent.” Reaching into the breast pocket of the Muggle-style sport jacket he hadn’t yet removed, he retrieved the sheaf of parchment he’d shrunk. “He wanted me to give you these. They’re copies of your account statements for last month.”

“He usually just has them sent via owl,” she noted, taking the parchment and tossing it onto the counter for later handling.

Draco shrugged. “Just an excuse to get me into the room and then attempt to get me to pity him enough to cough up some information. Of course, he failed. Oh, and I did check the papers for any intrusive enchantments; they’re clean.”

“Thanks for your diligence,” she said. “And of, course, Narcissa tried the same. I took the tiniest bit of pity on her and told her that we had made a decision, but I was extremely careful to ensure that I gave her no clue as to the nature of it.”

Draco huffed. “The best I gave to Lucius was that he had less than three months to wait. I suppose, though, that I’d have been slightly less strident about it with Mother,” he conceded, “not because she’s any less at fault, as the idea originated with her, after all, but because she’s at least been slightly more contrite and less demanding than Father has been.”

“Wait – this idea originated with her? I’ve been assuming all along that it was Lucius!” she said, clearly shocked by the unexpected revelation.

“I could have sworn I told you about that. I’m sorry if I was mistaken in that,” he apologized. “Does it really matter, though, in the grand scheme of things?”

Hermione sounded sad when she replied, “No, I guess it really doesn’t. It’s disappointing, but I guess they agreed on both the rationale and the methodology, so whose idea it was is really immaterial.”

“Now that I think on it for a moment, I have to say yes and no,” Draco said, his voice sounding thin and tired. “It does provide one bit of insight that’s fairly useful. It demonstrates that my father would do absolutely anything, even risk his relationship with me, to try to make my mother happy. I suppose he and I do have that in common when it comes to how far we would go for the ones we love.”

“I think that’s a trait we all tend to share, Draco,” she professed, “but I won’t argue that your Slytherin lot has been known to take it to extremes.”

Finally disengaging from their embrace, they sat at the table, holding hands across its top, while they sipped at their tea and made plans for the remainder of the day.

Thursday evening, Twenty-Three Days and Counting

After a long day at the restaurant, Draco wanted nothing more than to cuddle up on the sofa with his fiancée, sip on a libation, and maybe have a few good snogs before heading off to bed, where he fully intended to have a few more good snogs.

His lovely fiancée, however, had other ideas. After they had finished tucking Louisa into bed for the night, Hermione had disappeared for a few minutes, saying that she had a quick task to handle. When she joined him in their private sitting room several minutes later, she was carrying a fairly long roll of parchment. Her eyes were bright with that spark he’d seen probably thousands of times when she had ideas or when there was something academic sparking her interest. It was all he could do to hold back a whine.

“What now?” he needled.

“Just a few details to confirm for Louisa’s party and for the wedding,” she explained.

“Do we have to do that right this minute? I was looking forward to a good snog or two,” he groused.

“And you’ll get more than a good snog if I’m in a happy mood. Finishing this will put me in a very happy mood, indeed,” she wheedled.

He smirked at her wickedly. “In that case, I’m in.”

“Let’s deal with the party first, because that’s obviously next on the calendar,” she suggested. Handing him a duplicate – made with a flick of her wand – of the parchment she was holding, she referenced the first item on the list. “These are the people who’ve accepted invitations and will be attending.”

After what he complained was an interminable nine minutes of checking guest lists, menus, favors, entertainment, and most importantly, presents for the birthday girl, Draco managed to steal a kiss or two until his bride-to-be pushed him away with a laugh and an “Oh, no – you’re not distracting me yet!” warning. “We’ve got to get through the checklist for the wedding preparations, then I’m all yours,” she promised.

“Well, I can accomplish that in two minutes or less,” he boasted. “Portkeys, in my office. Licenses and legal documents, complete. Officiant, booked. Witnesses, secured. Rings, purchased and delivered from the jeweler. Mini honeymoon, arranged until we can spare a full week away. Formal robes, fitted and scheduled to be delivered next Tuesday. Other than whatever you’d like to wear, what else is there?” he asked, making it plain that he thought there couldn’t be any other details to manage.

“Oh, ye of little vision,” she needled. “How about flowers? Music? Our vows? Selecting the bonding spells? A dinner for our small party afterward? Care for Louisa during that mini honeymoon?”

He lifted a brow at her and asked, “Just how many of those have you not fully handled?”

She blushed sheepishly. “Okay, it’s just about all done. We really only need to select the bonding spells and each write our own vows. I just wanted to be certain that we hadn’t missed anything important.”

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to lean against him on the sofa. “Hermione, angel, relax. We’ve both got everything well under control and more than sufficient time to make the final two decisions. If you’d like, we can certainly go over those things now. Then, I plan to snog the living daylights out of you for an extended period of time.” He made a down-payment on that promise with a kiss that caused her to shiver delightedly in his arms. When they finally separated, she said, “Yes, well, that sounds like a fine idea.”

It took less than an hour for them to hash out the pros and cons of the available bonding rites and they finally settled on a set of promises and protections with which they were both thrilled. In the context of the ceremony, each would have the opportunity to speak their own vows of marriage, and they mutually decided to work on them separately, saving them as surprises until they were spoken before the officiant and their witnesses. Draco also had another little trick up his sleeve that he chose not to reveal. He was confident, though, that his fiancée would be delighted with it.

“Are you satisfied that we haven’t missed anything?” Draco asked, the glint in his eyes obvious.

“I think we’ve got it as well-covered as it could be,” she agreed. “Now, let’s move on to satisfaction.” She giggled and squealed when he tackled her with delicious force onto her back and made good on his earlier threat to snog her to within an inch of insanity.

XXXXX

Three days later, the pair and their daughter joined Draco’s parents at the manor for Louisa’s third birthday party. While they were all cordial and welcoming to their guests, amid the din of several toddlers squealing over pin-the-tail-on-the-unicorn games and mountains of sweet treats, the tension between the younger Malfoys-to-be and the elders did not go unnoticed by everyone. Hermione felt a tug on her elbow and turned, greeting Harry with a smile.

“Let’s go for a little walk,” he said, and it was clear that it wasn’t as much a request as an imperative.

Glancing around to ensure that everything seemed well in hand and all of the other guests were well-occupied, Hermione nodded her acquiescence.

She led him away from the sun room where most of the adults had gathered and in the opposite direction of the playroom where the children were being entertained and supervised by the wizarding equivalent of a clown and his troupe of performers. When they were well out of ear-shot, even of the magically enhanced variety, they entered an unoccupied sitting room, and she cast a Muffliato spell just to be certain they could speak in full confidence and privacy.

She sighed in resignation and asked, “What did you want, Harry?” She waved her hand to offer him a seat and she took her place beside him on the settee.

Harry clasped his hands over his knees and said, “I’ve known you for more than half our lives, and I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed such a dichotomy of emotions from you. What in the devil is going on?”

“You would be the only one to notice that anything is amiss,” she deflected.

“No, just the only one with enough bollocks to confront you about it. We all know you moved into the townhouse with Draco a few months ago, but the explanation you gave us was sketchy, at best. And now it seems that there’s some sort of rift with Narcissa and Lucius. It’s been clear that you and Draco get along beautifully, but I’d bet my last Galleon that there’s a lot more to the story,” he challenged with a fair degree of teasing.

“What we told you was true; we wanted to give Louisa a more normal family life, and we wanted to explore the possibilities if we were to become… closer,” she said hesitantly.

“I see the way he looks at you, Hermione. He’s so careful, but he’s not perfect. Every now and then, you see the raw emotion spill through and there’s no denying that he’s beyond crazy about you. What was less expected was that I’m now seeing that same look in your eyes when you’re with him. Are the two of you actually… together?” Harry asked, though there was no censure or displeasure in his tone. If anything, he sounded amused.

Hermione dropped her head into her hands and groaned, then finally looked at him with a threatening glare. “I will answer your questions only if you make an oath not to share with anyone – not even Luna – what I’m about to tell you,” she said. When he nodded in assent, she produced her wand and bound him to secrecy.

“So, here’s what happened…”

Twenty minutes later, she had related the entire sordid tale of Draco’s parents’ misguided intervention layered on top of their own growing feelings for each other. She concluded by revealing their current status. “We’ve decided that we want to marry, and please, Harry, I beg you not to be offended, but we’re doing it on our own, outside of Britain. It’s what we both want.”

“You really love him? You truly want to marry him?” Harry asked for confirmation.

“I do. Just the day before we found out about the decree, I’d confessed to him that I was feeling far more than friendship and asked that we think about pursuing something more. That, in fact, was sort of what triggered the decree to become fully executed,” she said.

Harry draped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her in for a hug. “As long as you’re happy, Hermione, I don’t give one whit how you get this done. You deserve to have things work out exactly as you want them. Just remember that if you need any help pulling off this grand caper, I’ll be ready to pitch in.”

“Thank you, Harry. That means a lot.”

On the opposite side of the massive manor, a similar scene played out between another pair of old friends. “Pansy, I will need a Slytherin Swear from you, or I’m not saying a single word,” Draco professed.

After executing the complex promise, the breach of which rivaled the consequences of the Unbreakable Vow, Draco confessed the whole complicated story to his stunned friend.

“So, bottom line, we’re going to do things on our own terms, hang what my parents have to say about it,” Draco concluded.

Pansy’s expression conveyed both her shock and her delight that her lifelong friend – and very brief love interest – had finally found a measure of happiness, though the fact that it was muted by his parents’ machinations was more than troubling. “I’m sorry that there had to be so much drama around the whole situation, but I truly am overjoyed for both of you. I think you’re very good for each other,” she observed.

“I do, too. If the circumstances weren’t so twisted, I guarantee that we’d both be shouting from the rooftops, but we’ve agreed that what’s most important to us is doing this in a way that’s true to our hearts and our principles. I’m very sorry that it means that you won’t be able to witness our bonding, but I’m guessing we’ll do something to address all of that after we’re wed,” he suggested.

“Whatever you decide, you know you have my support. Please, Draco, just remember that I’ll be there, and ready to pitch in, if you need anything at all to pull this off.”

“Thank you, Pansy. That means a lot.”

As both sets of friends returned to the party, Draco and Hermione each flushed guiltily for a moment when they both accurately concluded that their secret had been shared. The smiles that came momentarily eased any major worries as they reached a silent understanding that the need to share with their very best friends had been mutual and essential.

It wasn’t until nearly an hour later that they were able to get a few minutes alone together, and Hermione was first to get her apology out. “I’m so sorry, love, but when he confronted me, I just caved. I did make him take a wand oath, though, and I’m confident he’ll respect our privacy. Please, forgive me for breaking our secret?” she asked.

He gathered her into his arms, checking to be sure they were truly alone before planting a kiss on her lips. “You’ve got nothing to apologize for, sweet, especially since – as I’m absolutely positive you deduced – I did exactly the same thing that you did. The stress of keeping the secret has been getting to both of us a bit, I think.”

She nodded her head against his chest. “Of course you’re right. Thank Merlin it’s less than three weeks away. I’m likely to lose my mind before then, but I suppose I’ll be in good company.”

“We’ll be fine, Hermione; I promise. Two weeks and six days is all we need to handle.”

Saturday Afternoon, Fourteen Days and Counting

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Hermione asked for the ninth time.

Draco looked at her with vexation, his arms folded across his chest. “The only thing I mind is you asking me, yet again, if I mind. For Merlin’s sake, since when is it either a chore or somehow undesirable for me to spend a few hours alone with my daughter? I’m her parent as much as you are. You’ve got things to do, so go do them.”

“Oh, Draco, I didn’t mean it that way, like those awful people who say that a father is ‘babysitting’ his own children. I was just thinking that you usually spend a couple of hours at the restaurant on Saturday afternoon, and I didn’t want you to have to give that up so that I could run my errands. I’m sorry,” she said with a contrite expression.

“Hermione, cut it out. You still have to buy your dress, and today is really the only day you’ll have to do that. I can pop by the restaurant for an hour tomorrow morning, if I feel the need. I’ve got a great crew and they can certainly get by without me for a day. So, go,” he said, shooing her away with a wave of his hand.

“Don’t be cross, Draco, please,” she said.

“I’m not cross, but I will be downright grumpy if I hear you complain again that you haven’t found your dress yet.” He grabbed her hand, tugged her close, and gave her a quick peck on the lips. “Go!”

“Okay, going now,” she affirmed as she secured her winter cloak around her neck and pulled on her gloves, Apparating away to Diagon Alley. Within moments of arriving, she regretted her decision. As she approached Madame Malkin’s shop, Ginny Weasley was converging on the same location from the opposite direction, and she’d obviously been seen.

“Hermione! Hello, love. Fancy meeting you here,” Ginny said as she held the door open for her friend, the two women exchanging a kiss to the cheek in greeting.

Hermione pasted on a smile and desperately hoped that Ginny was simply picking up something she’d already ordered. “What brings you here?” she probed.

“I need a dress for the Yule party that Neville’s grandmother is hosting next weekend. Is that what you’re shopping for? You are coming, aren’t you?” Ginny pressed.

“Uh, I don’t think we’ll be able to make it this time. Draco asked me to accompany him to an event that same night. For the restaurant. A fund raiser, of sorts,” she explained. Although the prior commitment was true, she already had a dress for that party and she really couldn’t afford to waste time on frivolous shopping when she had to find something appropriate for her own wedding. “No, I’m shopping for something else,” she said, staying vague about the topic.

Ginny linked her arm through Hermione’s and dragged her further into the shop. “Well, let’s get to work, then.”

Madame Malkin approached them a moment later and asked, “What can I help you find today, ladies?”

Hermione waited while Ginny described the kind of dress she wanted and hoped that the shop owner would embark on that mission before helping her. Luck, however, was not on her side as the older woman instructed a shop assistant to begin finding options for Ginny to consider. Clearly assuming that the pair were shopping together, she asked, “And you, Miss Granger? Something along the same lines?”

Hermione had no choice but to answer, so she tried to remain as imprecise as she could without risking utter failure. “No, I’m shopping for a different occasion, Madame Malkin. I’d like to see something a little dressier, but not too formal, in maybe white or ivory. Possibly a sheath or A-line cut. Sweetheart neckline would be a first choice,” she detailed.

She started breathing again when Ginny made no comment or observation, but the younger witch was somewhat absorbed in watching the colorful array of dresses that the shop assistant had already begun to gather for her to try. The next test would come momentarily, when Hermione’s selections appeared in the dressing room adjacent to hers.

Within moments, Ginny was in her dressing room, stripped to her undergarments, and donning the first of her frocks. The forest green velvet was a complimentary color, but the cut of the garment was all wrong, making the redhead look rather bottom-heavy. She stepped out to model the dress and immediately wrinkled her nose at her reflection in the three-way mirror. “I’m not so sure about this one, Hermione. What do you think?”

Hermione peeked out over the top of the three-quarter door and quickly concurred with Ginny’s opinion. “You can do better.”

“So, let me see yours,” Ginny prompted.

Hermione balked, saying she wasn’t fond of the fit, but Ginny persisted. “Come on. I showed you this one, even though it makes me look far more pear-shaped than I actually am!

Hermione had little choice but to relent, so she adopted an indifferent expression and stepped out of the cubicle.

“Wow. It’s pretty, but it looks kind of like a wedding dress, with all that lace,” Ginny observed.

Hermione’s silence was probably more damning than if she’d denied it up and down. Her tell-tale nervous tic of wringing her hands made the situation that much worse.

“Hermione?”

“Yes, Ginny?”

“Are you? Is this…? When are you getting married?” she asked in a shriek, causing Hermione to shush her and cast a quick Muffliato.

“Please, Ginny. It’s a really long story and it’s a really big secret. You have to promise me that you won’t tell a single soul – not Neville, or Luna, or any of your brothers. In fact, I’m going to have to insist on an oath or Obliviation. Your choice,” she whispered somewhat heatedly.

“Slow down a minute. First of all, when is the big event? And of course, it’s Draco you’re marrying, right? Ginny confirmed.

“Of course, it’s Draco; who the hell else would it be?” she asked a bit snappishly. “And it’s two weeks from today. I’m not telling you another word until you take a wand oath, Ginny.”

“Fine,” she said with an exasperated sigh. She submitted to Hermione’s demand and took the oath, ensuring that she couldn’t reveal what she learned to another living soul without severe repercussions. Losing the ability to fly was not something that Ginny Weasley would take lightly.

“I’m not going into major detail, but yes, Draco and I will be married two weeks from today. There are some… family dynamics issues that have caused us to go this route, and I’m not comfortable talking about it in a public place. I promise I’ll tell you the whole story when we have both the time and the privacy to discuss it. All you really need to know for now is that we’re both ecstatically happy about being together, we’ve chosen this path for very personal reasons, and we’ll be leaving the country for a few days to facilitate the plan.”

“You won’t be telling me where you’re going, will you?” Ginny guessed.

“Not a chance. No one but Draco, myself, our attorney and our witnesses know, and I just can’t risk having that information leak,” Hermione replied.

Ginny sighed dramatically. “You promise you’ll tell me the whole story when you return?”

“Witch’s honor,” Hermione pledged.

“Okay, then. Let’s find you the perfect wedding dress.”

XXXXX

“I’m home,” Hermione called out as she stepped through the Floo, packages in hand.

“Mummy!” Louisa exclaimed as she ran on chubby little legs to greet her mother.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Hermione replied, dropping her bundles to lift the tot into her arms. “Where’s Papa?”

“Right here,” Draco answered as he rounded the corner into the foyer. “No dress?” he asked, taking note of the small packages that certainly wouldn’t hold a full-size garment.

“Having a couple of alterations done,” she explained. “I’ll pick it up on Thursday after work.”

He smiled in response. “Good. I’m glad you found something you liked. What’s all this, then?” He moved to peek into the bags she’d left on the bench near the coat rack.

She slapped his hands away before he could see what any of the packages contained. “Mind your beeswax, mister. You’ll see them at an appropriate time.”

“Oh, really?” he commented with a positively lewd grin. “Can’t wait.” He raised his arms defensively when she moved toward him, twisting away as her hands tried to find purchase on his ticklish ribs.

“In good time, and not a moment before,” she warned, scooping up the bags after transferring Louisa, who’d been watching her parents’ teasing with silent, rapt interest, to her father’s arms.

Draco allowed her a few minutes alone to store away her purchases, then tromped playfully up the stairs with Louisa bouncing on his shoulders. When they arrived in Hermione’s room – now shared almost every night by Draco – she had just finished changing into a fleece track suit.

Draco leaned forward, playfully dumping Louisa onto the bed, deep with down comforters and a feather-filled mattress top. She rolled around happily, tossing pillows in the air while her parents talked.

“So, everything went well? You found what you wanted?” he inquired.

Hermione winced, and that gave him at least a partial answer.

“What happened?” he prompted.

“I ran into Ginny at Madame Malkin’s, and when she saw what I was trying on, there was no denying what the dress meant,” she said.

“Oh, shi…oot,” Draco said, rolling his eyes. “So, what did you have to do to keep her quiet?”

“I made her choose between a wand oath and being Obliviated…”

Draco snorted in amusement at his fiancée’s audacity while Hermione continued her explanation.

“…and she took the oath. Then, she helped me find the most perfect dress I’ve ever seen. She’s a little ticked that there won’t be an opportunity to witness the ceremony, and I didn’t give her any of the details that we shared with Harry and Pansy, but I did tell her that we had very personal reasons for handling things this way, and she was pretty gracious in accepting that, all things considered.”

“It seems that the tiny handful of people who do know what’s going on are all eager to witness our wedding,” he observed.

“They do seem to be,” she acknowledged. Pausing for a moment, she finally said, “Maybe we should consider doing some kind of party or something after the marriage is made public. It might take away some of the bad feelings of people not being included.”

“Yeah, I actually said something to that effect to Pansy when we spoke,” he admitted. “It’s not a bad idea.”

Hermione laughed as a thought occurred to her. “We should coerce your parents into springing for a big splash.”

“They’d jump at the chance; don’t kid yourself that it’d be any kind of hardship,” he noted.

“Well, we wouldn’t have to do anything immediately, anyway, so let’s just table that thought for now,” she suggested.

“I do have an interim idea,” he offered, after thinking for a moment.

“What’s that?”

“Maybe we could host a New Year’s Eve celebration for our closest friends – the same group we had here for my birthday and maybe just a few more,” he proposed.

“I think that’s a wonderful idea, and because we’re talking about fewer than twenty people, it wouldn’t be very difficult to plan,” Hermione agreed.

“Better yet, let’s do it in the private service room at the restaurant. I can get Rebecca to work out the details for us, and I’ll make a generous additional donation this month. It’ll give us an opportunity to make sure all of the people in our peer group know exactly what the restaurant is about, too,” Draco suggested.

“And if I know our friends, those who are able will make their own donations. It’s a brilliant idea. Just don’t make Rebecca work too hard on it. Give her something to start with,” she requested.

Draco rolled his eyes again. “Do you think I’m that demanding a boss? I’m with the team at least six or seven hours a day, so I’m quite certain I’ll find sufficient time to work with her on what we want. Speaking of, do you have any preferences?”

Hermione shook her head. “I trust your judgment when it comes to menu planning far better than my own. Something festive and elegant, but not over the top. I want it to just be a lovely celebration.”

“Leave it to me, love. It’ll be great.”

Monday Night, Five Days and Counting

“Have you started packing yet?” Hermione asked as they cuddled on the sofa in their suite, sipping wine. Draco was stroking his fingers through her hair absentmindedly and was apparently far, far away. When he didn’t respond to her question, she twisted to face him.

“Everything all right, love?” she asked. “You’ve been very quiet tonight and that’s the third time you’ve not registered that I said something.”

He kissed the crown of her head and smiled softly. “Just thinking about things. The wedding, my parents…”

When she looked at him quizzically, Draco’s instinct was to deflect the concern he saw in her eyes.

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. You’re brooding,” she retorted sympathetically. “What can I do?”

“Really, it’s nothing,” he protested, though he knew that she would easily see through his calm façade.

Her challenge came in the form of a lifted brow followed by a gentle brush of her lips against his. Next, she sighed. Then, she stunned him with her own confession. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling just a little melancholy that we won’t have anyone from our extended British family at our wedding.”

He kissed her forehead and echoed her sigh. “I guess I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t feeling a little weird about how all of this is playing out, now that we’re down to the wire,” he admitted, part of him hoping that she’d press him to keep talking, part just wanting to bury his head in the sand. As usual, though, his angel came through in the pinch.

“Are you regretting our decision? Do you think we should abandon the plan?” she asked, the hesitancy in her tone making him unsure which answer she’d prefer to hear.

Draco shifted his position so that he was now sitting up with his feet planted on the floor, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped tightly before him, as if in prayer. His head dropped to further mimic a supplicant’s pose.

His sigh was long, deep, and shuddering. “That’s the million Galleon question, isn’t it?”

“Tell me what’s on your mind, love,” she urged.

Draco ran his hands through his hair and tugged. “You know, don’t you, that I’m completely, head-over-heels in love with you, right? And there’s nothing on this earth that I want more than to be married to you. What I’m struggling with has nothing to do with my feelings for you or my commitment to us,” he professed emphatically.

“When we decided to get married, I was still so angry with my parents for having interfered in our relationship, particularly because of how I’d been manipulated and used in the past, that all I could think of was making them suffer for how they’d hurt me with what I saw as their betrayal of my free will.

“What I didn’t count on was that my anger with them would create any suffering for me, but it has. And I’ve been trying to ignore it, shove it away. I keep thinking, though, about how much they did to help me, how much they sacrificed to figure out what had happened to make me such a monster and when they did, how to rescue me from those horrors. Then, they were nothing but fully supportive while I went through the process of healing during my three years in Salem.

“How can I set all of that aside so callously, when I know in my heart that what they did with the decree was not really malicious? Scheming and ill-considered, given my history, certainly. But their intentions were full of love, not only for me, but for you, too. There’s a part of me that is undeniably furious over what they did, but there’s a nagging, growing part that recognizes a need to forgive and move on. If it weren’t for forgiveness, you and I certainly wouldn’t be where we are now. How can I continue to hold this against them when what I did was far, far worse?”

Draco got up from the sofa and began to pace. After a moment, he turned to Hermione and pleaded, “Please, love, tell me what you’re thinking.”

She rose to join him and wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her head on his shoulder. She lifted her head after a moment to kiss him, resting her palms against his cheeks. When she spoke, she looked directly into his stormy silver eyes.

“You know that I’ll support whatever you think is best, but I have to agree that I’m also feeling incredibly torn. Your parents took me in and gave me a home when they could have just as readily chucked me away and left me to fend for myself. They could have easily rejected both me and my baby, but instead, they became my family and gave her your name.

“Please, Draco, you must know that I share your outrage over the sneaky, underhanded way they tried to push us together, but I also recognize that it was my actions that caused the decree to be triggered. I did the things that, if we’re to look at this with any objectivity, they couldn’t have forced me to do if the means weren’t in my heart already. Shouldn’t we take some responsibility for the fact that our feelings are real and genuine, and have been for some time? What they did, at the very core of it, just facilitated what was already happening, maybe even fated to happen. It just pushed up the timeline a little, and forced us to look at our relationship sooner than we might have.

“You said that I’d forgiven you, and I can’t forget that you’ve also forgiven me for keeping Louisa a secret from you. I’m very aware that we’re guilty of a great deal of hypocrisy if we don’t extend that same gift to them,” she concluded.

Draco tugged her close and buried his face in her curls. He murmured into her ear, “My heart tells me that we can’t be married without my parents there and not have immense regrets about it later.” His voice broke at the end, and he felt the tears that he’d been holding at bay trail along his cheeks.

“Mine, too,” she whispered in reply.

They stood, arms wrapped tightly around each other for several long minutes, swaying silently to the music of their own heartbeats. Draco finally pulled away and asked the question now at the core of their discussion. “Since we’ve only got five days until we’re supposed to be married thousands of miles from here, how do we deal with this?”

Hermione was quiet for a moment, but Draco knew only too well that she was weighing, evaluating and calculating the possibilities. It wasn’t long before she offered her conclusion. “I see three options. First, we bring your parents with us. That’s fairly simple to accomplish and requires minimal effort. Second, we move the wedding here and transport the eight people involved to England. That’s a little more complicated, obviously, because it also means that logistics would need to be shifted. There are, however, several things that would have needed to go with us anyway, so it’s probably a wash in the long run. The third would be to postpone the wedding to a later date and do the huge gala that your mother probably would have planned, if she’d had her way.”

Draco took his own few moments to consider the benefits and challenges for each choice she’d outlined. “You’re right that the simplest option, logistically, would be to just take my parents with us, but there’s also the question of our closest friends. If we decide that the very reason we were keeping our wedding a secret is no longer valid, then I’d wager my last Galleon that our friends would be justifiably livid to not be included. As for option three, I’m not willing to wait one minute longer than absolutely necessary to seal our vows. That leaves the second possibility. While the details would be more challenging, I’m certain that we could figure out a way to make it work. What do you think? Can we pull it off?” He knew that his tone was eager, bordering on desperate. They had to find a way.

She smiled at him, eyes bright with the thrill of a new plan to hatch. “I’ve purposely kept my schedule very light this week, so I can devote all of my energies to making it work with just a little help from you, and possibly from Narcissa. There are several calls that we’ll need to make, though. We should divide those up and get to work.”

Draco’s grin was dazzling with his palpable joy. “I’ll make a list.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At 16,000 words already, I really had to break the chapter here. So there will be one more (split into two parts) full chapter, then the Epilogue. Please review!


	32. Matrimony - Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this exceptionally long chapter, problems are solved and promises are made. Note that the chapter has been split in two parts.

“David? It’s Draco. I’m sorry to call just as you’re about to leave for home, but it’s rather urgent,” he said.

“No problem, but I’m a little confused. I thought we were going to touch base tomorrow,” Healer Roy replied.

“Yeah, well, there have been some developments and I really needed to talk to you,” he explained.

“You don’t sound particularly upset, so I’m going to guess that it’s a logistical issue,” David surmised.

Draco’s laugh held little humor. “Sort of. I guess I should start at the beginning…”

It didn’t take very long for Draco to explain the decision that he and Hermione had reached and what had motivated it. Coming only two days after the revelation that the holiday celebration they’d planned in Salem was actually intended to be their very private wedding, he was sure this new twist would be a shock. When he finished, his friend and former therapist let loose a low whistle and said, simply, “Wow.”

“Yeah, that’s one way to put it,” Draco said dryly.

“Don’t misunderstand my reaction, Draco. Every time either Kate or I have talked to you in the past few weeks, we’ve been taking bets that there was something more to the story. When you both talked about a schism with your parents, we could see that it was weighing on you. As happy as the two of you obviously are together, it was clear that there was something about the circumstances that had both of you pretty stressed. When Hermione Floo-called Kate last week, she sounded as tense as you had. So, all that being said, what can we do to facilitate moving this party from Salem to Wiltshire?”

“Not a lot, to be honest. The most important thing is for you, Kate, and the boys to be here. I’ve got an International Portkey that I can send through Floo post, and I’ll have it revised to accommodate all eight of you. I’ll call Bob when we’re done, and I’ll ask him to reach out to you so that you can coordinate. Don’t worry about overnight accommodations. We’ll host all of you at the manor, I’m sure.”

“Thank you. And I’ll be happy to coordinate with Bob and Marcel. I’m assuming that you had arranged for a celebrant here in Salem?” David asked.

“Yes, and I’ll take care of cancelling him, with full payment to soften the blow. Hermione and I will be looking for someone local to officiate the ceremony once we finalize the location. We’re hoping to get all of that pinned down first thing in the morning,” he relayed.

“Are you sure there’s nothing else I can do to help?” David probed.

“No, I’m sure. We’re not planning anything more elaborate than what we would have done in Salem. There’ll just be a handful or two of additional witnesses,” Draco said, the smile on his face clear in the bright tone of his voice.

“Draco?”

“Yes, David?”

“I’m really proud of you.”

The younger man chuckled briefly. “Yeah, David. Me, too. See you on Friday.”

As soon as the connection was broken, Draco made another call. “Bob? It’s Draco. There’s been a change in plans…”

Barely an hour later, Draco had finished making all of the necessary calls to Salem. Bob and Marcel had been a bit more surprised than David, but had taken the news of a shift in venue with good humor and promises that they and their wives would witness and celebrate their marriage with them as per the new plan. Marcel had insisted that he still wanted to prepare the wedding feast and they made arrangements to coordinate meal planning in a day or two, once all the details had been settled and the final number of guests determined.

Hermione, meanwhile, had been sketching out the particulars that would need to be shifted once she and Draco spoke with his parents in the morning. The most important task was to find someone who could conduct the ceremony with only four days to prepare. Draco had suggested that they might be able to call upon his parents’ vast connections in the wizarding bureaucracy to find an appropriate celebrant. Since the plan had always been for minimal fuss, she wasn’t terribly concerned about the music and flowers. They could make do with a charmed piano and a nosegay for her to carry, if need be. Draco had popped in to tell her that he had already spoken with Chef Marcel, who had graciously and generously offered to prepare the celebratory dinner, and their licenses and documentation were in hand and in order. She’d finally picked up her dress two days before and Draco’s robes had been ready, hanging in his closet, for three weeks. The only other project she needed to finalize, other than the guest list on which they’d work together, was a final edit of her vows. Fortunately, that last element had no location-dependent factors. She’d not asked Draco about his own progress, but was confident that his penchant for details and diligence ensured that he’d probably be done before she was.

Draco returned to their suite after making the remainder of his calls and looked over Hermione’s shoulder at the parchment on which she was making notes. He leaned over to rest his hands on the desk on either side of her and kissed her neck. “Do you have much more to do?”

“No, I’m just about done with anything that can be handled until we speak with your parents in the morning,” she answered. “What time is it, anyway?”

“Almost half eleven,” he noted, checking the case clock on the room’s north wall. “If you’re going to be a few more minutes, I’m going to take a quick shower. See you in the bedroom?”

She smiled in reply. “Where else?”

He kissed her cheek then headed off to the en suite bath in what had become “their” bedroom. The only concession to their not-yet-married status was that Draco had not yet moved his clothing into her half of the shared master suite. He recalled that his father’s custom had been to maintain more of his gentlemanly independence, keeping his toilette and dressing room fully separate from his mother’s. It was certainly more modern to fully share a living space, and as traditional as his upbringing had been, Draco had every intention of living his married life with Hermione in a wholly contemporary manner. He was certain they’d find some productive use for the unoccupied space at some point in time.

True to his promise, his shower had been quick and he donned a pair of aubergine silk sleep trousers then stretched out on the bed with a book to await Hermione’s arrival. He managed to get through less than a half-dozen pages before she joined him, stripping off her jumper and tiredly tossing it onto the blanket chest at the foot of the bed. Her trousers joined it a moment later, followed by her undergarments. She yawned broadly while allowing her cream satin nightgown to drift over her head and shoulders, falling into place with a whisper against her skin.

Draco drew down the comforter and sheets and beckoned her to join him. “Come, angel. You look dead on your feet.”

She smiled sleepily. “I am,” she admitted. “It’s been as emotional an evening as it has been busy.” She climbed in beside him and rested her head on his chest, allowing him to wrap his arm around her to gather her close.

Draco kissed the crown of her head and set his book on the nightstand. He flicked his wand to extinguish the lights and shifted both of them down to cuddle deeply into the thick, warm featherbed. “I love you, sweet,” he whispered.

“Are you happy with what we’ve decided, love?” she asked, the waning volume of her voice betraying the fact that she was quickly losing the battle to stay awake.

“Over the moon,” he replied.

“Good. Me, too. I love you, Draco,” she said, then she fell silent, sleep finally claiming her. It wasn’t more than two minutes later that Draco also succumbed.

XXXXX

Tuesday morning dawned thickly overcast and bitterly cold and Draco, the first to rise, made his way throughout the townhouse to ensure that all of the fireplaces were blazing brightly. By the time he returned to the bedroom, Hermione had made her way to the bathroom for her shower.

Recognizing that there wasn’t any time for hanky-panky, he took a few minutes in the bathroom on the opposite side of the suite to tend to his morning ablutions, then dressed in a charcoal grey Muggle-style business suit, complete with a crisp white oxford and a Windsor-knotted black and white striped tie.

He stepped into Hermione’s room to find that she was nearly finished dressing, wearing a fine woolen pantsuit in a deep shade of blue. “Good morning, angel,” he greeted, leaning against the door jamb as he watched her fasten a strand of pearls around her neck. He also noted that the diamond and sapphire engagement ring with which he’d presented her was in its proper place on her left hand. That brought an enormous grin to his face.

“Hello, love,” she replied, turning from her mirror to see him. “Don’t you look dapper!”

“Had to be sure I’d be worthy of my beautiful bride,” he answered. “Do you want me to get the munchkin up and dressed, or would you prefer that I handle breakfast?”

“I’ll get her, but I don’t want a big breakfast today. Just toast and tea,” she requested.

“Nervous tummy?” he wondered.

“Just a bit,” she admitted. “Once we get everything out in the open, I’ll feel a lot better.” She moved to wrap her arms around Draco’s waist and he enfolded her in his embrace. “Maybe I can convince my dashing fiancé to take me out for lunch.”

“I’d be happy to,” he said, “but what about your work schedule?”

“I have one patient to see at eleven, one at three, and the final appointment at four,” she listed.

“Light day,” he observed.

“Very,” she agreed. “No matter how the details worked out, we’re getting married in four days. I figured there would be things that needed to be handled, and if nothing else, I knew I’d be too distracted to focus terribly well. Thus, no more than four appointments every day until Friday, which I’ve got completely off.”

“You, my darling, are a genius, but that’s nothing new,” he said with a jolly laugh.

“You’re my inspiration, love, but right now, I need to get your daughter ready for day care at the hospital,” she reminded him.

“I wish she could be with us this morning, but I have to agree that it’s probably better that we have this conversation with my parents without the distraction. I’m pretty confident they’ll be happy about the wedding, but probably not so happy with the scolding they’re going to hear,” Draco guessed.

“I think they’ll accept it with as much good grace as they can muster, because they’ll know it’s deserved,” she countered.

“Well, I don’t plan to be too terribly harsh with them. I’ve given my father more than an earful already, after all. But I think that warning them off further interference is prudent, and that’s why I’m going to ask them to make the Unbreakable Vow. They need to know we’re serious about managing our own lives, and I don’t want us, or Louisa, or any other children we might have, for that matter, to have to be looking over our shoulders for the next thirty years, wondering what machinations might be in play,” Draco said. “You’ll be ready to bind the Vow for me, yeah?”

“Of course, and you’ll get no argument from me, but the clock’s still ticking, so if we’re going to get where we need to be on time, I’ve got to get Louisa up now.”

Forty-five minutes later, everyone was dressed and fed, and the family left via Floo to settle Louisa in at St. Mungo’s Early Childhood Education and Day Care Programme until Hermione would retrieve her after her final appointment of the day. With kisses, hugs, and promises for a special surprise at dinner, the young parents left their toddler behind and once again entered the Floo network.

Less than a minute later, Draco and Hermione stepped into the family entrance foyer at Malfoy Manor, startling the small house-elf who had been preparing to restock the firewood in the hearth. With a high-pitched “Eep!” the elf popped away, presumably to notify the Malfoys about the unexpected arrival of their son and his companion.

Before the couple could divest themselves of their winter cloaks, Narcissa met them with a puzzled look and a smile.

Draco leaned in to kiss her cheek and Hermione followed with a hug. “Good morning, Mother. Is Father home, too?” he asked.

“Of course, darling. Is everything all right? We weren’t expecting a visit,” she asked, concern overtaking the surprise that had been prominent in her expression seconds earlier.

“Everything is fine, Mother. We have some news that we want to share with you, and some… cooperation to request. Shall I find Father, or does he know we’re here?”

Before he could receive an answer from his mother, Lucius appeared around the corner. “I’m aware of your arrival, son. To what do we owe the pleasure?” he asked. Though his tone was cordial, it held a hint of wariness.

Hermione answered his query with a smile. “We would like to talk with the two of you about a matter of some importance and urgency. Maybe we should find somewhere comfortable to sit for a while?” she suggested.

“Of course, dear. Have you had breakfast? Perhaps a cup of tea in the solarium?” Narcissa offered.

“Tea would be lovely,” Hermione agreed with a smile, and she linked her arm in Narcissa’s as they all made their way to the east side of the manor.

Once the two couples were seated and tea had been poured, Lucius prodded the younger pair for elucidation. “So, you said that you had something you wished to discuss with us?”

It was Draco who cleared his throat to speak. “Yes, we do. Mother, Father, Hermione and I have made a decision with regard to the status of our relationship. Before we tell you exactly what that decision is, we want you to know that we would likely have reached the same point without the interference caused by the decree. As we’ve made quite plain, we’ve both been hurt and distressed that you would try to manipulate us and our feelings for each other.

“Hermione and I have talked about this at great length, and regardless of what we tell you today, we will insist on having an Unbreakable Vow from you that you will never again try to coerce, manipulate, influence, or otherwise interfere with any element of our individual lives or any joint venture in which we might engage. This will extend to our daughter, and apply to any future issue of mine. We further request that the Vow be undertaken prior to us telling you of our decision and any role you might play in it. Is that understood and accepted?” he asked sternly.

Narcissa answered immediately and emphatically, “Yes, without hesitation.” Lucius was slightly less enthusiastic, but acquiesced without complaint.

“Good. You will make the Vow with me and Hermione will be our binder. Father?” Draco said, standing and extending his arm for the elder man to grasp.

Hermione rose and produced her wand from the long, slim pocket in her trousers. No one, it seemed, had yet noticed that her left hand had remained in the other pocket for the duration of their brief time together.

Draco began, “Lucius Xavier Malfoy, my sire, do you promise on pain of death to refrain from all interference, legal, financial, emotional, and relational, for myself, Draco Abraxas Malfoy, your heir and issue, for the mother of my issue, Hermione Jean Granger, for my heir and issue, Louisa Granger Malfoy, and for any future heir and issue of my line?”

“I do,” his father replied quietly, and a golden light emitted from their clasped arms as Hermione waved her wand and said, “So mote it be.”

“I think that’s sufficient,” Draco pronounced. “Thank you, Father.”

He then turned to his mother and they repeated the process. When it was done, Hermione stowed her wand and took Draco’s hand.

When everyone had again taken their seats, Hermione spoke. “We want you to know that we forgive you for your interference. We recognize that you did not do it with any intent to harm, and that your motivations were to see Draco and me find happiness. We’ve talked about this endlessly, and we also know that each of us has committed offenses against the others over the course of the time we’ve known each other, but we’ve also given great kindnesses, support, and love. Draco and I have forgiven each other for the transgressions we’ve committed, and as we enter this next phase of our lives, we felt we could do no less with you. The Vow we just asked you to enter was to impress upon you how serious we are about making our own way in the future. Your love, support, and encouragement will always be welcome; manipulation will not. So, we want to begin to work with you on repairing any rift and healing any hurt feelings that have been created over the last few months as we’ve worked through our decision. Will that be possible from your perspective?” Hermione asked.

The fact that she had taken Draco’s hand had not gone unnoticed by his parents. In fact, Narcissa’s gaze seemed to be fixed firmly upon their entwined fingers. Neither parent, however, made comment on it.

Lucius answered Hermione’s question graciously. “We would like nothing better.” His wife confirmed his sentiment with a smile and a nod.

“Before we go any further, I must acknowledge that we do owe the two of you our deepest apologies. All we could see was how perfect you could be together, and when we discovered that Hermione was carrying your child, well, I guess we got carried away with our actions. We truly never meant to hurt either of you, and we were undoubtedly incredibly unwise in trying to engineer an outcome. Rather moronic, really, when I reflect now on both the deed and the methods we employed. The Vow aside, you have my word as a Malfoy that we will never again interfere in your private business,” Lucius promised fervently.

“I echo your father’s words and sentiment. We were wrong, and I deeply regret it,” Narcissa added. “Now, will you tell us the decision that has brought you here today and what role you wanted us to play in it?”

The younger couple looked at each other and both smiled broadly. “We’re getting married,” Draco announced, his gaze never leaving his fiancée’s face.

Narcissa gasped, then squealed in a most undignified manner, veritably leaping over the table to embrace her son and his intended. Lucius’ grin could only be described as smug when he reached to shake son’s hand, offering his congratulations. “Best wishes for your everlasting happiness,” he said to Hermione as he kissed her cheek.

It was Draco who spoke up to get the necessary conversation back on track. “Let us fill you in on our plans, as time is short. We need to ask your indulgence in helping us to get things organized.”

“Anything you need, you can be sure we’ll provide,” Lucius offered graciously. Draco held back a smirk, but couldn’t help but think that, since the man had gotten his way in the end, it was no surprise that he could afford to be magnanimous now.

“First, you need to know that the wedding is planned for Saturday, and we’d like to have it here at the manor,” Draco said.

“This Saturday?” Narcissa asked, incredulously.

“Yes, Mother, this Saturday. The truth is that we were planning to be married in Salem, with my mentors from the Grapevine and my therapists as our witnesses. We’ve changed our plans so that you and a small group of our closest friends can be present. I’ve sent an International Portkey so that our American friends can join us, and I’d be grateful if you would allow them to stay here at the manor for a couple of nights. There are three married couples and two children to accommodate,” Draco explained.

“We’d be delighted, son. We have more than enough space to host them. I’ll put them on the third floor in the East Wing,” Narcissa said, although there was unambiguous hurt in the tightness of her smile and the over-brightness of her eyes.

While Draco had not been explicit in his explanation, the inference was unmistakable: if he and Hermione had not had a change of heart, their wedding would have proceeded without his parents.

“Mother,” he said, “We’ve made the decision that we want you to be a part of our lives and done what we felt was right so that our relationship with you could be repaired. I can see that you’re a little stunned, but we need you to help us. I’ve tried to set aside my stubborn pride, and I hope that you can, too.”

He saw her blink away her impending tears and square her shoulders with determination. “Of course, son. We’ll be thrilled to help, and it will be the first step in repairing the damage we’ve caused. Your forgiveness means everything,” she said.

Draco smiled and stood to engulf her in an embrace. “We’ll get there, Mother. Once step at a time,” he said.

“Shall we talk about the details?” Lucius interjected, and mother and son separated with a final squeeze.

For the next half-hour, the two couples exchanged lists, ideas, and requirements, the most urgent of which was finding someone who was appropriately qualified to conduct a full binding rite within mere days. Lucius had promised to call in favors and exploit his legion of contacts to secure the necessary services, and he’d left for his study as soon as their initial conversation was done.

Another half-hour passed before Lucius rejoined his wife, Draco and Hermione to report that he’d found someone who was both qualified and available to officiate the binding ceremony. The man, an elderly wizard whose politics were rather liberal for a pureblood and who had served on the Wizengamot with Lucius for more than two decades, had taken a liking to the younger man when he’d successfully aided in undercutting the Dark Lord’s incursion with his cunning and subterfuge more than three years earlier. He had been delighted to be asked and had agreed without hesitation. Once the good news had been delivered, Lucius requested a private word with his son.

While Narcissa and Hermione took the time to finalize the guest list, diving into the task of writing the invitations to be delivered by Express Owl, the two men entered Lucius’ study.

“May I offer my most sincere congratulations on your betrothal and imminent marriage, son? As you obviously know, this was the outcome for which both your mother and I were hoping. I must also say that, despite the anxiety our… temporary estrangement has caused, I am most impressed by your strength of will and the lengths to which you were willing to go to protect your own family. You deserve my respect and the vow that I made to stay out of your business in the future.” Lucius had been pouring a deep amber-colored liquid from a black crystal decanter into two crystal tumblers and handed one to his son.

“I’ve been saving this bottle of Remy Martin Louis XIII Rare Cask since the day you were born. I told myself that I would break the seal on the day you became a man. There are many definitions and milestones to manhood, but the surest measure is when you find it in your heart to forgive those who’ve done you grievous wrong. Pair that with the wonderful news of your marriage, and this is the only moment that could qualify as perfect. For all of that, I salute you and offer my deepest apologies.” He raised his glass and drank, Draco acknowledging the toast and taking a sip of his own, savoring the smooth burn of the exceptional cognac.

“I noticed that Hermione was not wearing one of the family rings. If that was done only because you wanted to conceal your engagement, please do feel free to select anything you wish from the family vault,” he offered.

Draco shook his head and smiled wryly. “No, Father, although that would have been reason enough. I wanted to present her with something truly her own. She has enormous respect for history, but we are, undoubtedly, a modern couple. I also wanted to incorporate her favorite stone, which is also her birthstone. Thus, the sapphire was very important. I’ve no doubt that over the years we’ll have opportunities to take advantage of the contents of the vault, but for now, we’ll stay with what we have.”

“Whatever you wish. I just wanted to make the offer,” Lucius reiterated. “You are aware of the trust fund changes that are made upon your marriage, yes?”

Draco nodded. “I believe so. My understanding is that my full main trust is released as is the smaller one from Grandfather Abraxas. Because you’ve already given the spouse’s trust to Hermione upon Louisa’s birth and recognition as my heir, there would be no other change.”

“All of that is correct, but there are two other gifts of which you may not be aware. These were bestowed at your birth to be released upon marriage. The first comes from your mother’s side of the family and the other from the Malfoy estate holdings. From the Black line, your gift is a parcel of one hundred acres of land in Scotland, about seventy-five miles south of Hogsmeade. You are free to build on it, farm it, sell it… whatever you wish. Your gift from the Malfoy estate is a stock portfolio that has been invested on your behalf since before your birth. Its current value is at a little over two and a half million Galleons. Control over those assets is yours as of the first of the month,” Lucius explained.

“Thank you, Father. That’s exceedingly generous and I’m sure I’ll continue to invest prudently for the future.”

“I have no doubt. You are free to either use the investment advisors who currently manage the funds or select your own.” Lucius took another sip of his cognac and paused, seemingly weighing his next words. He finally said, “Your mother and I also have a personal gift that we planned to give you, but I think you may choose to use it differently than we’d originally intended, given that you seem so well-settled at the townhouse.”

“Am I to assume that it’s a house?” Draco concluded.

Lucius nodded. “It will be a house, if you wish. About two years ago, we purchased a tract of land, about fifty acres, forty miles west of here, and retained an architect to design and supervise the construction of whatever you would like. An escrow account was set aside to fund the entire project. If you plan to stay at the townhouse for an extended period, you may consider building a weekend retreat. Or maybe something larger in the event that you intend to expand your family. Whatever you wish. The property and funds are available to use at your discretion.”

Draco was undeniably surprised at his parents’ gesture. Since the family owned more than a dozen properties throughout Europe, he had guessed that his father had decided to give him the deed to one of those. Knowing, though, that all of those assets would eventually be his when his father passed on, that would have been a rather redundant gesture. Giving him the opportunity to build something that he and Hermione would love, however, was a very thoughtful gift, far more personal than simply handing over a building that was sitting unused and gathering dust.

“That’s very kind of you, Father. Of course, Hermione and I will need to talk about what we want to do, but any project would likely take many months to design and build. We’ll have much to consider. Thank you,” he concluded.

“You’re welcome. We hope that you’ll build something that will make you very happy. Now, there is one final gift that I’d like to give you, just from me to you,” the elder man said, opening a secured drawer on the right side of his desk with a flick of his wand. He reached inside and retrieved a small square box, crafted from ebony wood and inlaid with a Mother-of-Pearl design in the shape of the Malfoy family crest. As he handed the box to Draco, he said, “I know that you youngsters have taken to using your mobile phones to keep track of the time, but every gentleman should have a fine watch in their collection for special events. This belonged to your great-great-great-grandfather and has since been passed down to the heir on an auspicious occasion. I hope you will consider carrying it on your wedding day, and use it in good health for decades to come.”

Draco had waited to release the gold clasp on the front of the box until his father finished speaking. When he lifted the lid, he inhaled sharply with surprise and delight. Nestled in a bed of black velvet was an exquisite pocket watch, its deep yellow color signifying that its case was made of at least eighteen karat gold, as was the long, thick chain to which it was attached. He removed the pristine item from its resting place and opened the case, engraved on the front with the same Malfoy family crest, to reveal a Mother-of-Pearl face, small diamonds marking each hour, and delicate hands that appeared to be cast from platinum. The crystal was faceted around the bezel, creating a play of color as light touched the surface. It was, without question, a work of art. As he turned the watch over, he saw that the back was hinged and double-layered, the first a clear crystal which exposed the timepiece’s inner workings and the second the same fine gold that protected the watch’s face. This was engraved with a simple inscription, “To my son, Draco, with all my love and respect.”

Draco rose and stepped around the desk, silently prompting his father out of his seat. The beautiful watch still in hand, he embraced the man fully and, his voice thick with emotion, said, “I’ll treasure it until the day that I, with any luck, have the opportunity to pass it on to a son of my own. Thank you, Father, for everything. Even when you drive me spare, I love you, too.” After a long moment, he stepped back and made a good show of further examining the detail in the engravings, trying quite futilely to hide the sudden wave of emotion that had crept up upon him.

Lucius cleared his throat and with his own over-bright tone said, “You’re entirely welcome. Now, let’s see if our ladies require any further assistance.”

When they rejoined Narcissa and Hermione, the women were attaching invitations to owls and sending them off as quickly as the next one could be written. The guest list had been finalized with fewer than thirty names, including the eight guests who would be arriving from Salem in three days. In addition to the friends who had been included in Draco’s twenty-fifth birthday celebration, plus Pansy’s husband, Georg, Blaise’s fiancée, Amelia, who would finally marry her own wizard in a lavish gala in early April, the extended Tonks family, Barrister Marcus Phillips and his life-partner, Jonas, Molly and Arthur Weasley, and Healer Brooks Quadros, who had been so instrumental in saving Narcissa’s life and who still saw to her neurological health every month, and his wife, Janine, had been added to the guest list. Most notably absent was the third member of the trio that had been so close until the war had separated them, both literally and figuratively. When Draco asked his fiancée if she wanted to include her erstwhile friend, she had smiled distantly and said, “Ron and I haven’t been close in any way for more than three years and I haven’t even seen or spoken with him in at least a year. I’ll always remember him fondly as an old friend, but not so much that I care to include him in our intimate wedding. There are people with whom I work at St. Mungo’s that I prefer to invite over him. So, thank you for thinking of him on my behalf, but no.”

“Whatever you prefer, love,” he answered with a shrug. “What else do we need to do?”

“I think we’re making good progress. Flowers and music will be relatively simple, although your mother has managed to make them a bit more elaborate than we’d originally planned.” Hermione smiled and winked at Narcissa to assure her that the comment was not a rebuke. “Your mother said that she has a florist who has always been able to handle her needs with little notice, and we’ll really only be looking for centerpieces for the five guest tables, a modest bouquet for me to carry, a little basket of blooms for Louisa, and something for your lapel,” she explained.

“Oh, dear, you’ll want something for whatever space you decide to use for the ceremony, too, unless you’re using the full binding. In that case, the officiant will handle the requirements,” Narcissa mused.

“Yes, that’s what I asked Father to request, Mother,” Draco answered. “We decided that we wanted the full traditional ceremony.” Turning to include Hermione in the question, Draco asked, “Have you determined how the music will be handled?”

She nodded. “We won’t need anything for the ceremony other than a processional and recessional, which will be provided by the charmed harp, and your mother has contacted the leader of a small ensemble that she’s previously used to provide dinner music, and an hour or two for dancing thereafter. She’s suggested that we trust their judgment with selections, and I have no concern about that.”

Narcissa then interjected a question of her own. “Have you spoken with your chef friend, Draco? I’d like to put him in touch with my head house-elf to finalize whatever he needs.”

Draco nodded. “I gave him a general heads-up about the number of guests and he said that he would be able to make the same meal that we had already discussed. I called my supplier for the restaurant and placed the order for whatever was needed, which will be delivered here on Friday morning. Chef Marcel should be here before noon on Friday, so there’ll be ample time to coordinate with your staff. I was certain that you would have sufficient supply of china, flatware and crystal here at the Manor, and thought we could use the White Ballroom for the dinner after the ceremony. I would assume you can put the elves to work on getting that set up in the next two days. We just need to decide exactly where we want to have the ceremony,” he noted.

“Well, we need somewhere large enough for the officiant to cast the circle and still accommodate chairs for everyone,” Hermione said. “I can think of at least a half-dozen rooms that would work, but I couldn’t say that I really have a strong preference for any one of them over another. Do you have an opinion?”

He smiled brightly. “I do. How about the Music Room? It’s more than large enough, very elegant, and it has the added benefit that we wouldn’t need to move the harp. Even with magic, that darned thing weighs a ton.”

“And the crystal chandeliers are beautiful. They’d look wonderful with the candlelight. Done,” Hermione agreed.

“I can’t think of anything else that we haven’t handled,” Draco said, glancing at the pocket watch that he’d fastened by its chain to his belt loop. “Time is getting short if you’re to get to your appointment, love. We should go.”

Narcissa rose as the pair gathered notes and belongings. “We’ll hear from you later today?” she inquired.

“If not this evening, then first thing tomorrow,” Draco acknowledged. “We want to try to explain things to Louisa tonight. How much she’ll understand is questionable, but we would like to make the attempt to prepare her so that she’s not overwhelmed on Saturday.”

“Lovely, dear. If you need us to look after her for a few hours over the coming days, don’t hesitate to bring her by,” she offered.

“Thank you, Narcissa,” Hermione said. “Depending on how things progress, we might do that on Thursday. We’ll be in touch frequently over the next couple of days, and please feel free to call me on my mobile if you need any information or decisions from us. Obviously, we’re more than willing to pitch in with any of the grunt work that needs doing.”

“Don’t be silly, darling. That’s what house-elves are for. This is no more trouble than any dinner party we’ve ever hosted, and there have been dozens upon dozens in this old house. What’s that saying? Piece of cake!” Narcissa said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

Hermione glanced wide-eyed at Draco at the mention of a confection, clearly panicked at something she hadn’t even considered. He smirked at her and said, “Marcel. Chocolate cake. Two large tiers. Vanilla buttercream frosting.”

She laughed in reply, then took his hand in hers, tugging him toward the Floo. “It’s ten ‘til. We’ve got to go!”

XXXXX

The next two days featured a crazed flurry of activity, and the pair had barely had an hour to themselves other than during slumber. Nearly everything had gone off without a hitch, including the revelation of their impending marriage to their toddler. As Draco had predicted, she’d really not understood the whole idea of what it meant to be wed, but had been thrilled at the prospect of strewing flower petals on the floor as her mother walked down the aisle. They’d even practiced in the large foyer, with Draco standing in wait at one end and Hermione walking behind her to meet him, and she’d handled it like a pro. There was every hope that she could repeat the performance on Saturday evening.

The couple was delighted that all of the invited guests had replied with an acceptance, and the final count stood at twenty-eight. Draco had, as promised, forwarded the International Portkey to Salem, and the entire group of Americans was expected to arrive in Wiltshire at eleven o’clock Friday morning. Narcissa had invited them to join the family for dinner that night, where they would also be joined by Draco, Hermione, and their daughter. Draco had been excited for the opportunity to formally introduce his bride (and their daughter, who would be a complete surprise to Bob and Marcel) to his friends prior to the wedding; although she had spoken via Floo with both Kate and David, she’d not yet had the pleasure of meeting them in person, nor had she had any contact with his mentors from the Grapevine. The next two days would be a whirlwind, indeed, culminating in their exchange of vows.

It was approaching midnight when Draco finally joined Hermione in their bedroom after having sneaked off to take care of a chore. He hoped she would love the elegant oval sapphire and diamonds earrings that he’d bought as her wedding gift and wrapped meticulously in crisp pearlescent paper, finishing the small package with a blue satin ribbon. They were a perfect complement to her engagement ring, and he thought that they weren’t so formal that she’d be reluctant to wear them often. He’d also taken the opportunity to put a finishing touch or two on the vows that he’d written for the conclusion of their wedding ceremony. He felt satisfied that he’d finally captured exactly what he wanted to say to the love of his life.

His gratification must have been etched on his face as he entered the room, as he heard Hermione say, “You look like the cat that got the canary, love. What did you do now?”

He smiled even more smugly in reply. “That, my dear, you will find out in good time.”

She grinned at him mischievously, setting aside the book she’d been reading as she waited for him. “I suppose we all have our little secrets now and again,” she allowed. “You still haven’t seen the contents of that little pink bag, after all.”

“Which, I assure you, I am most eager to do.” He suddenly yawned broadly, and began to undress, fastidiously folding his jumper and hanging his trousers on the wooden butler that he’d transferred from his former room. Tossing his undergarments in the clothes hamper, he donned a pair of sleep trousers, but as was his usual habit, eschewed a shirt. He tended to overheat in the down-covered bed, particularly if there was any snuggling or other close contact involved. “After a little sleep, anyway.”

“Did I tell you that your parents have offered to keep Louisa overnight on Saturday so that we can have our privacy for the evening?” she asked.

“No, you hadn’t mentioned that specifically, but I’d honestly assumed they would do that,” he answered.

“Since we’re not going to take our honeymoon immediately, I know I’ll be grateful for several hours during which I have you all to myself,” she said, cuddling up to him as he climbed into the bed.

“I can promise you that I intend to cut off all access to us, including removing the batteries from our mobiles. Only an emergency Patronus would be able to get through,” he vowed. “And I do mean emergency, in the direst sense.”

“Can’t wait, but for now, I’m saving up my energy, if you don’t mind. I’m thoroughly knackered,” she professed, adding her own yawn for good measure.

“Why didn’t you just go to sleep, then, rather than waiting up for me?”

“Can’t sleep without my goodnight kiss,” she teased, tilting her head to meet his lips.

“Less than forty-eight hours now, angel,” he whispered after they’d pulled apart. When she hummed contentedly, he wrapped his arms around her more tightly, and in minutes, both were sound asleep.

XXXXX

As busy as the prior two days had been, Friday promised to be non-stop activity for all of the principle players in the next day’s nuptials. Hermione had left for the manor by eight, her dress, accessories, toiletries, and daughter in tow. Narcissa had insisted that she spend the night in her former suite in a nod to tradition, and Louisa would spend the day playing in the room in which she’d spent her infancy, supervised by whichever adult was available at the moment and a cadre of house-elves who were ecstatic to have the little miss “home” again. She, too, would stay overnight, to be retrieved by her parents at some point in the day on Sunday. Draco would stay at the townhouse to sleep, but planned to spend the bulk of the day with the family at the manor, greeting and entertaining their American guests, finalizing little details, and ensuring that Chef Marcel had everything he needed to organize their post-ceremony feast.

Before he could attend to any of that, however, he had two small missions to accomplish. He desperately needed a haircut if he preferred not to look like a vagabond at his wedding, and he had another little bauble that was ready to be retrieved from the jeweler, who had sent him an owl informing him that the engraving he’d requested was finished. Those tasks efficiently completed, he arrived at the manor by ten with a tiny box in his breast pocket and a spring in his step. When he spotted Hermione approaching down the long corridor between the ballroom on the left and the smaller formal parlor and music room on the right, he jogged to meet her, sweeping her up in his arms, twirling her around, dipping her low, and finishing with a playful kiss.

She laughed huskily at his antics. “You’re in an awfully good mood,” she observed.

“And why wouldn’t I be? I’m marrying you tomorrow,” he retorted, his grin so broad that it was a wonder his cheeks didn’t hurt.

She preened briefly and said, “Of course. You are a very lucky bloke, Mister Malfoy.” She dissolved into fits of giggles when he wrapped his arms around her, taking advantage of the position to blow raspberries on her neck. Hearing an “Ahem” from several feet away caused the pair to separate, and Draco saw his mother’s amused expression shift to all business.

“Your friends from Salem should be arriving within the half-hour, Draco. Would you like to inspect the rooms I’ve prepared for them?” she asked.

“I have every confidence that they’re perfect, Mother. You’ve been entertaining guests for close to thirty years; I can’t imagine that you don’t have every last detail covered.”

“True, I do have a knack for the little things,” she agreed, smiling and winking at the pair. “I’ve arranged for coffee, tea, and light breakfast pastries in the solarium. I know that it’s still very early morning for them, and they may not have had time for breakfast. We’ll have a late lunch, maybe around half two, then dinner around eight, after the rest of the preparations have been completed. Does that sound all right?” she asked.

“Perfect, Mother. It will give them time to get settled in, spend a little time with us, and I’m sure Marcel will also want a little time in the kitchen with the house-elves to strategize for tomorrow. Your elves are preparing tonight’s dinner, though, correct?” Draco confirmed.

“Yes. They’re more than capable of preparing a meal for a dozen guests. I’d venture a guess that they have served banquets for groups at least as large as your friend has,” Narcissa said. “I’ve had events here for as many as three hundred people.”

“I’m certain you’re right. It’s just that Marcel wanted to do this as a special gesture of his friendship, and as accomplished as your elves are, he really is an exceptional chef. I’m sure you’ll love the meal he’s preparing,” Draco replied. “Don’t let the elves get their knickers in twists over it, though; they can look at it as an opportunity to learn from someone with very different training to theirs, and I can attest from personal experience that he’s a wonderful teacher.”

Narcissa laughed at the thought of the elves taking offense. “Trust me, dear. It won’t be a problem.” She turned away briefly to adjust a wayward blossom in the arrangement of long-stem white roses on a tall mahogany marble-topped table. “I thought we’d serve a choice of roast Cornish hens, seared filet of beef, or baked Dover sole. Will that do?”

“Beautifully.”

“Hermione, the florist sent a message through the Floo a few minutes ago and said that the rest of the flowers will be delivered at four o’clock this afternoon. The centerpieces for the White Ballroom were delivered very early this morning so that the elves could complete the table settings. He’s already taken care of casting long-lasting stasis charms so that they’ll stay perfectly fresh through the weekend,” Narcissa informed her. “I, uh, took the liberty of ordering a few additional arrangements to decorate the common spaces and the guest rooms. I would usually do that anyway, but I just wanted to be certain they’d coordinate with the pieces you requested.”

Draco looked at his fiancée and smirked. She rolled her eyes at him and turned back to face her future mother-in-law. “Thank you, Narcissa. That’s very generous and thoughtful of you.”

She waved a hand dismissively. “It was nothing. Oh, and I asked the elves to chill several bottles of that lovely champagne that we had for your birthday brunch, Draco.”

“You mean the Krug Private Cuvee?” he asked.

“Yes, that’s the one. I think we had a little more than a case left.”

“Are you sure you want to do that, Mother? That’s pretty pricey stuff,” he cautioned.

“And for what better celebration could I possibly save it than the marriage of my son and the woman I already think of as my daughter?”

“Well, thank you again, then.”

“You’re welcome, dear.” Turning once again to Hermione, Narcissa asked, “Have you had an opportunity to check the tables and seating arrangements in the White Ballroom, Hermione? The head elf said that they had finished about an hour ago.”

Shaking her head, she answered, “No, I’ve been tied up with a couple of other things so I haven’t yet seen it. Since we’re all right here, why don’t we do that now?” She crossed the hall, opened the double doors and gasped. She was wide-eyed and slack-jawed as she took in the elegant décor that the house-elves had wrought on their behalf. “You weren’t kidding when you said ‘White Ballroom,’” she murmured.

Each of the five large, round tables was set with fine white linen, draped in swags and jabots that were bound with trailing twisted cords of gold and silver. Each place setting featured a charger of gold, topped by a snow-white dinner plate edged with a thick platinum ring, on which nestled a salad plate of the same pattern. A white linen napkin edged with delicate gold and silver embroidery was folded into a neat rectangle and placed on top of the layered plates. Gold flatware graced the dinner service, three forks to the left, two knives and two spoons to the right, and a cake fork and dessert spoon at the top, facing opposite directions. To the upper left sat a bread plate crossed with a butter knife, and to the right were three fine Baccarat crystal stems, one for water, the second for red wine, and the third for white wine. A tall champagne flute to the extreme right completed the setting. Each table was decorated with a floral arrangement of white blooms, dominated by roses, orchids and peonies and accented with green ferns and long, tapered leaves; silk ribbons in white, silver, and gold were arranged into graceful bows as accents. Two tall white tapers in sterling silver candlesticks waited on either side of the flower arrangement to be lit for the celebration. Beside each table, a tall sterling silver champagne bucket anticipated the fine bubbly that would toast the bride and groom.

An open space had been set off for the small musical ensemble, and the dance floor was accented with a charm that created a large gold and silver square within the marble’s surface. The room’s large gilt mirrors had been draped with white silk to soften their appearance, and gold sconces throughout the room held never-melting white tapers. The window dressings, normally a heavy brocade of burgundy, had been replaced with heavy white satin that pooled in graceful swirls on the gleaming white marble floor. Three large gold and crystal chandeliers had been polished and cleaned until they sparkled and shone brightly and then adorned with small white satin ribbons. The effective was positively stunning. Neither Hermione nor Draco had expected anything even close to the elegant vision before them.

While she spun in a slow circle to take in the entire effect, Draco felt a wave of relief wash over him. This was what his beautiful bride deserved, not a slap-dash, thrown-together, half-arsed imitation of a wedding. And his mother had seen to it that their day would have all the sophistication and style that it should have had. So much of their early lives had been colored with so much ugliness that, he thought, wasn’t a little beauty appropriate now? While the single most important thing to him was unquestionably the recitation of their vows, there had always been a part of him that wanted Hermione to feel like a princess on the day they became man and wife, and his regret over the minimalism of what they would have done in Salem was at least a tiny part of the many factors that had driven him to the reconciliation with his parents.

“It’s exquisite, Mother. We can’t thank you enough,” he finally said.

Hermione stepped closer to Narcissa and whispered into her ear haltingly, “H – H – How did you know? I didn’t tell you anything about my dress.”

Narcissa looked slightly confused as she leaned in to reply. “Your dress, dear? I don’t understand.”

“It’s white, of course, but it has gold and silver threads throughout the lace. This is utterly perfect.”

“I had no idea. I just thought it looked lovely, especially so near to Yule and Christmas,” she answered. “Serendipitous coincidence, I’d venture to say.”

“What are you two whispering about?” Draco challenged teasingly.

“You’ll understand tomorrow,” his mother said smugly. “In the meantime, let’s do a quick inspection of the Music Room across the hall before your friends arrive. They shouldn’t be more than a few minutes away by now.”

Draco reached out for Hermione’s hand and the pair followed his mother across the hall to view the site of the binding ceremony. By necessity and custom, it would be much more modest to account for the solemnity of the sacred rite that would be performed. When they walked through the door, they noted immediately that a large space had been left bare, except for the large golden harp set far to the right corner of the room. (The massive twelve-foot ebony grand piano stood at the opposite end of the large space.) This open area was where the wizard-officiant would cast the circle. In the most traditional ceremonies, they might even have stood on bare earth, but in recognition of the frigid temperatures and light coating of snow, it was allowable to use the wooden surface that also provided such strong acoustics in the room. The wizard would make any ceremonial adjustments to ensure the proper homage was paid to Mother Earth.

They noted that four rows of eight chairs had been set up with an aisle splitting them, four to the left and four to the right. The aisle was marked by a long white runner made from a heavy cotton muslin. Each chair was of the same dark cherry wood that accented the doors and windows, and all were upholstered with white velvet. All of the mirrors in the room were covered, per the officiant’s instructions, in crisp white cotton. The chandeliers twinkled in the room’s dim light, provided by large white candles every eighteen inches along each of the four walls, broken in regular intervals by the tall windows that, like the mirrors, had been covered in white cotton. During the ceremony, the lighting would be a similar warm glow, accented further by only ten percent of the lumens that would normally emit from the two massive crystal fixtures. While the overall ambiance was not as elegant as the ballroom, it was certainly striking, and more importantly, appropriate for its purpose.

“Perfect, Narcissa. I really love it,” Hermione said with a smile.

Draco squeezed her hand and swallowed heavily. “We’re going to exchange our vows here tomorrow,” he murmured, as much to himself as to his fiancée.

Narcissa cleared her throat delicately. “I hate to interrupt, darlings, but I think I just heard the main Floo activate. That must be your guests from America,” she said, glancing at the gilt mantel clock and noting that it would be striking the hour any second.

Draco’s grin was bright as he dragged Hermione with him to greet the travelers. They rounded the corner to see eight people, trunks or bags in hand, looking expectantly toward them, and with no small amount of awe at the size and grandeur of their surroundings. None of them, however, were so gauche as to make a comment. “Good morning, everybody! Welcome! You had no difficulty using the Floo at the International Port, I trust.” When they all indicated that it had been smooth sailing, Draco began greeting them individually.

Daryl and Thomas would have been first to ambush Draco with hugs if their mother had not held them back with a gentle admonition to allow the other guests a moment to say their hellos. Not unaware of their eagerness, Draco favored them with a wink, the silent promise for a private moment or two quickly inferred by the bright, intuitive children.

Bob Gotro and his wife, Anna, stepped forward first as the eldest of the visitors. He shook Draco’s hand enthusiastically and said, “Draco, so good to see you! I’m sure you remember my wife.” He nodded to the tall, slim brunette beside him.

Draco took her hand in a warm clasp and smiled. “Of course. Delighted to see you again, Anna. I’m so happy that both of you were able to join us.” He turned to gather Hermione into the conversation. “This is my fiancée, Hermione. Hermione, please meet Bob Gotro, owner of the Grapevine restaurant, and his wife, Anna.”

“How do you do?” she asked politely, extending her own hand to theirs in turn. “We’re so happy to have you with us for our celebration.”

Next, Chef Marcel Janeford stepped forward with his wife, Victoria. He grabbed Draco’s hand in both of his and pulled him in for a brief embrace. “I’m so happy to be here, Draco. I think you’ve met Victoria once before, yes?”

He smiled graciously and took the woman’s hand. “We have, indeed. So good to see you again. This is Hermione.”

“So good of you both to travel all this way,” Hermione said, shaking their hands and offering a warm smile.

Next, David and Kate stepped forward with embraces for Draco. Hermione greeted each of them fondly. “I’m so happy to finally meet you face-to-face. Thank you so much for joining us.”

Draco was then tackled by the two boys, laughing heartily and ruffling their hair. “Hey, buddies. Welcome to England. I’m so glad to see you, and I want you to meet the very special lady I’m going to marry. This is Hermione.”

She extended her hand for both of the boys to take, and they did an admirable job of maintaining their manners in returning her greeting. “I’m very glad to meet you both. Draco’s told me so much about all the fun the three of you had together.”

Draco cleared his throat briefly and spoke to the group. “We’re so grateful that all of you were so understanding and accommodating when Hermione and I decided to change our plans. It means more than we can say to have all of you here to witness our binding. It’s been a challenging road for us to get here, and your support and counsel has been instrumental in helping us get to this point. There’s one more member of the family, though, that we’d like you to meet. Hermione will show you to your rooms so that you can drop off your things, and we’ll meet you in the parlor at the west end of the hall from your suites in about fifteen minutes.”

Hermione asked the group to follow her up the staircase and to the third floor where their accommodations awaited. She directed each couple to the specific rooms that Narcissa had selected for them, small suites for the Janefords and the Gotros, and a larger one with an extra bedroom to account for the young Roy brothers. “The house-elves are available around the clock to help you with nearly anything you need, even if it’s just pressing a jacket or tea service. When you’re done stowing your trunks, just take a right out of your room and go to the end of the hall. It’s the only room that has no doors. Draco and I will meet you there shortly.”

Leaving their guests to explore their suites for a few moments, Hermione joined Draco in Louisa’s room. He was retying the ribbon on her dress that she had repeatedly tugged, releasing the bow and causing its tails to trail along her sides. He smiled when he saw her and said, “How do you think they’ll react?”

She shrugged. “I don’t think it will be that stunning. You’ve told them before that you had some difficult times, so they know that there are things in your past that you’ve not specifically shared. And of course, the Roys do know about her. They wouldn’t have said anything to either Bob or Marcel, don’t you think?”

“No,” he replied, shaking his head. “They specifically told me they wouldn’t. It’s my story – our story – to tell.”

Hermione grasped his forearm. “Draco, you’re not going to tell them how…”

“No, of course not. I think we just introduce her as our daughter and leave it at that. I can’t imagine that they’d ask anything more; it would be unspeakably rude, even for Americans,” he added with a wry smile.

She returned the sentiment with a smirk worthy of her fiancé. “No, I don’t imagine they would. They may reach some conclusions of their own, but you’ve talked about leaving to do some growing up, so this would actually fit that narrative well.”

“And to forestall many of their queries early on, I told them the white lie that I had a fiancée back home. For all they know, we’ve been engaged for nearly four years. As much as I love and trust them all, there are things that belong only to us. This is one of them,” he asserted.

“I’m in complete agreement. This is ours.” Her nod was even more definitive than her words had been and she leaned in to kiss him briefly. “Let’s give them another minute or two, then we’ll go upstairs to the parlor.”

XXXXX

The couple need not have feared an awkward scene when they presented Louisa to their guests. While a couple of pairs of eyes may have widened slightly at the surprise, the toddler was greeted with oohs and ahhs over her resemblance to both of her parents and expressions of delight at how bright and well-mannered she was for a child so young. Lucius and Narcissa had joined the group for introductions and everyone had partaken of a late-morning snack in the solarium.

The remainder of the day was spent in relaxation for the travelers and final preparations for the betrothed couple. While meals had been shared by the entire group, both Draco and Hermione had taken private time away for reflection and spiritual contemplation.

Two hours after dinner had been cleared away, Draco found his intended in an otherwise unoccupied parlor, gazing thoughtfully out the window, and while a light snow was falling, it seemed that the accumulating flakes were not what occupied her mind. Her expression was serious but not melancholy as she turned upon hearing him enter the room. She smiled warmly and extended her arms to him, inviting him to embrace her. Resting her head on his shoulder, she murmured, “I love you, Draco.”

He kissed her forehead and answered in kind. They swayed silently in each other’s arms to their own private rhythm until Draco broke the quiet a few moments later with a question. “Did Louisa protest too much when you put her down to sleep?”

Hermione chuckled softly. “No, not really. She was definitely tired; half eight is quite a long while past her usual bedtime, so even though she was a bit overstimulated by the company, she was ready to sleep. I’d hate to think how cranky she would be in the morning if she’d stayed up any later.”

“Thank you for handling it on your own. It was very sweet of you to suggest that I spend some time with the boys before they went off to bed. I know they appreciated it,” he said. The fact that the opportunity had been just as welcome to him did not need to be spoken. “Is everything all right?” he finally added, cognizant that she was not terribly talkative.

“Couldn’t be better, love. I’ve just been contemplating how far we’ve come to get to this point, and how lucky we are to have surmounted so many obstacles, both together and individually. It’s quite an implausible story, if you think about it,” she suggested.

He tugged her close again, wrapping his arms tightly around her lower back and resting his cheek on the top of her head. “If I hadn’t lived it, I’d have never believed it,” he agreed, trying to keep some element of levity in his tone. “But since I did, and I don’t think that I’m a figment of my own imagination, I guess I’ll have to trust that you’re really here in my arms, loving me in spite of all my faults and foibles, and giving me the greatest gifts a man could ever want. I’ll make all my of promises to you tomorrow, before our family and friends, but right here, right now, I want to say that I love you, above all else.”

“I know you’ll deny it, but you are my gift, Draco. For more reasons than I can possibly name, you have given me a new life that I never expected. You opened my heart and helped me find peace within myself. I can’t deny that we had a horrific beginning, but we’re finding our happy ending together. I love you, above all else.”

They fell quiet again for a few moments, wrapped in their warm thoughts and contentment, until Draco said, “I have a little something for you, love.” He pulled away from her slightly and reached into his pocket for the box he’d wrapped so carefully. Thankfully, the satin ribbon had withstood its brief stay in the confined space. “I thought you might consider wearing them tomorrow.”

She accepted the box from him, but didn’t open it. She glanced at the clock and noted that it was nearly eleven o’clock. “Come upstairs with me for a moment. I’ve got something for you, but it’s in my room. Then, you can tuck me in,” she said mischievously.

Whispering and giggling along the way, the pair made their way to Hermione’s suite, managing to avoid an encounter with anyone. The fact that her suite was on a different floor from their guests and in a different wing from Draco’s parents didn’t hurt. When they entered the room, Draco closed the door quietly and managed to execute a wandless locking charm, just to ensure at least a few moments of privacy. As he made himself comfortable by stretching out on her bed, his back against the headboard, she retrieved a long, slim box, wrapped in heavy cream-colored paper and tied with a matching satin ribbon, from her armoire. She climbed over his legs to join him in stretching out on the bed. She leaned against his shoulder and presented the box to him, saying, “I know you have one, but I thought this one reminded me of you, and it seemed like it might be an appropriate addition to build your collection.”

He took the box, but said, “You first. I want to see your reaction.”

She rolled her eyes in mock exasperation but didn’t argue with his request. She carefully separated the tape from the paper and removed the box from its wrappings. When she opened the royal blue velvet lid, she squealed happily. “Draco! These are perfect. I love them. I’ll most definitely wear them tomorrow.” She removed one of the oval sapphire earrings, surrounded by marquis-cut diamonds and set it platinum, out of the box and it glowed and sparkled in the warm, low light of her bedchamber.

“I thought they would go well with your engagement ring,” he noted. “I hope they’re not too fancy, though, for you to wear often.”

“Well, they are a little on the dressy side, but they aren’t too large, so I think they can be worn with a nice suit or work-professional robes. I wouldn’t necessarily wear them with jeans, but nearly anything else would be appropriate. Thank you, Draco. I’ll treasure them,” she said, and leaned in to kiss him. “Yours now,” she urged, smiling in anticipation.

Seeing the ribbon with its characteristic name and symbol up close, recognizing the size and shape of the box, and considering what Hermione had said as she presented the gift to him, Draco knew that it contained a fountain pen. He’d frequently used the one that had been a gift from David Roy, coming to appreciate its convenience and elegance over using quills, and the idea that he might build a collection of them was enticing. He pulled on one of the tails of the ribbon to release the bow and slipped his thumb under the tape that sealed the paper. The wrapping discarded, he lifted the box’s lid and swallowed heavily at the magnificent instrument he saw nestled in white satin. Accented by a small round-cut diamond on the platinum-clad clip, the solid sterling silver fountain pen gleamed with an elegant barley guilloché pattern. The fine eighteen karat gold nib created a stunning contrast. “Oh, Hermione. This is beautiful,” he said through a shaky breath, his tone full of awe. 

“The color and coolness of the metal reminded me of your eyes. I hope you’ll like it as well as your original one,” she said.

“No contest. As meaningful as David’s gift was, this is precious beyond compare. Thank you, so much.” He demonstrated his appreciation with a gentle and sensual kiss, caressing her lovingly and sending delicious shivers up and down her spine. “Now, love,” he said, separating them slightly, “if I don’t leave, I never will. We’ve waited this long; I don’t want to jump the gun.”

She nodded, her expression a mix of mild regret for his leaving and immense respect for his self-control. “You’re right, but I wish you weren’t,” she teased.

Kissing her once more, but maintaining a tiny bit of distance with his grasp on her biceps, he finally swung his legs off the bed and, with great reluctance, headed toward the doors. “I’ll see you in the afternoon, love. Get some rest tonight, because I don’t plan on allowing you to sleep a wink tomorrow night.” He left on that note, giving her much to happily contemplate.

XXXXX

Draco felt remarkably calm on the morning of his wedding. Having forgone the silliness of a stag night, he was not terribly surprised, though, to hear the Floo chime with the arrival of the mates with whom he’d reconnected in the preceding months. Blaise Zabini, Theo Nott, and Pansy DeBoertsch, nee Parkinson, arrived in high spirits and carrying along a bottle of Firewhisky. As was fairly typical of her, Baroness DeBoertsch took control of the proceedings. “Since you wimped out on any debaucheries with your mates, we decided we needed to bring them to you.”

When Draco began to protest, he was silenced by the two males in the group. “Now, now, mate. You’ve got to learn from the start that you never argue with a lady. Just do what she says, and everyone’s happy,” Theo countered, with Blaise nodding enthusiastically in support of the premise, stating emphatically that it was the one and only secret to a successful union.

“Just one toast to old friends and new marriages,” the dark-skinned Italian cajoled.

Draco finally grinned and relented. “Fine, mates, but just one. I still have things to do today before heading over to the Manor in a couple of hours.”

Their prenuptial celebration was, true to Draco’s request, brief. That, however, made it no less festive or genuine. After an hour or so of sharing old stories and good wishes, the trio finally got Draco’s hint that as much as he appreciated and enjoyed their company, he needed some time alone. With “man-hugs” and claps on the back, two of his visitors gave Draco their early congratulations and expressed how eager they were to join in the evening’s celebration. The final visitor had a few additional words she wanted to share with the groom, and stayed behind for a moment after her compatriots had left.

Taking his hands in hers, Pansy sighed happily. “Draco, my dear old friend, I’m more thrilled than I can say that you’ve finally found the happiness you deserve. You and Hermione are such a great match, and I’m confident that the two of you will have a wonderful life together.” Her eyes twinkled as she began to needle him with a put-on. “There was a time when we were about fourteen years old that I had hoped that you and I might have found our way into a relationship. I have to say now that, seeing how happy you are with her, I’m relieved that I never got in the way.” She broke into raucous laughter when his expression clearly said that he had no idea how to respond. “You are so easy to take the mickey out of, Mister Malfoy!”

He flushed and smiled sheepishly. “You always were able to push my buttons, Pans. I’m glad you’re still my friend, and I hope that the four of us can spend some time together once things settle down a little. I appreciate your good wishes and your support more than you know, and I’m delighted that you and Georg will be with us as we exchange our vows.” He leaned forward and kissed her cheek, and she returned the gesture, squeezing his hands once more and finally taking her leave through the Floo.

Checking the case clock in the foyer, Draco noted that he now only had about two hours before he needed to get to the manor and he still hadn’t showered or eaten. He double-checked to ensure that everything that he needed to bring with him – Hermione’s ring, his dress robes, his special surprise in the small rectangular package, and the notes for his vows - was in order. Once he was assured that nothing was amiss, he made a brunch of what his American friends would call a “western” omelet, one of the orange-glazed scones that Hermione had bought at the fabulous bakery across the street from St. Mungo’s, and very strong black coffee, Draco bounded up the steps and into his own half of their shared suite to take a leisurely shower. When he was done, quickly dressing in a pair of worn, comfortable Muggle jeans and a thick cable-knit jumper, he decided to move the remainder of his clothing and personal effects into what had been Hermione’s room and was now their shared space. She’d been wheedling him for weeks to just get it done, and he’d, frankly, just been a bit lazy about it, for the most part. He thought she’d be pleasantly surprised that he’d finally accomplished the simple task. In his own mind, it was a symbolic shift that was representative of their formal change in status, if not a change in their daily habits. That mission finished, he gathered everything he needed to bring to the manor, took a deep breath, and traveled through the Floo to embrace their future.

XXXXX

Hermione’s morning was a bit busier than her fiancé’s. Narcissa had insisted that they, with Louisa in tow, visit her favorite beauty spa for facials, manicures, a (“oh, gods, that’s invigorating!”) full-body salt scrub, massage, and hair styling. Even Louisa’s curls were given the full treatment and a delicate white silk flower was affixed, charms applied to ensure that she couldn’t disturb its position. Hermione chose to leave her hair down, securing one side high behind her ear with a crystal-encrusted comb, and Narcissa asked that her long mane be styled into a classic French twist.

Fully relaxed and feeling decadently pampered, the ladies returned to the manor to find a whirlwind of activity had erupted in their absence. Chef Marcel had taken over the kitchen, issuing orders to the elves while he supervised the early preparations for the feast that would be served after the ceremony. The other guests had eaten their morning meal in the small family dining room along with Lucius, and he’d taken them on a tour of the facilities offered on the property for diversions until they were due to witness his son’s wedding at 4:30 p.m. Kate and Anna had both opted for some quiet time in the expansive library while Victoria, wrapped in a fur-lined cloak that she’d borrowed from Narcissa, took a long stroll in the winter garden. David and his boys were touring the heated stables, and Bob, ever the businessman, spent an hour or so discussing market strategies with Lucius until removing himself to assist Marcel with anything he might need in the kitchen. 

Hermione left Narcissa to her own priorities and went upstairs to put Louisa down for a short nap, carefully casting a charm to ensure that the child’s adorable hairstyle would not be disturbed. The intuitive girl clearly sensed the momentous nature of the day, if not its specific meaning, and there was no protest or argument forthcoming. When Hermione placed her on the bed after removing her shoes, she cuddled Penelope tightly, closed her eyes, and fell into a peaceful slumber within moments.

With nothing left to do but wait until the time came to finally don her garments for the ceremony, Hermione sat for a few minutes just watching her little girl sleep. She allowed the gentle motion of the rocking chair and the warmth of the roaring fire to lull her until she began to doze off. The peaceful silence was broken by a soft but insistent knock on the door.

“Love, are you in there?”

It was Draco, but she hesitated momentarily before answering. “Um, it’s supposed to be bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the ceremony,” she replied, just above a whisper so as not to disturb the sleeping tot.

He chuckled softly. “Since when have the two of us ever followed convention?” he scoffed. “Come on, baby. I don’t have my wand with me. Open the door and let me in.”

His voice sounded like silk coated with honey and it took only one more “Please, angel” for her to relent. The catch on the door released and it swung open slowly.

“Since when do you call me ‘baby’?” she asked with a huge smirk as he slipped into the room and wrapped his arms around her.

He shrugged. “It just came out. Practicing a variety of new pet names for when I’m ravishing you for the rest of our lives.” He kissed her neck to emphasize the point. “I missed you last night. Barely slept a wink.”

She pulled back slightly to look him in the eye. “And who was telling whom to get plenty of rest in preparation for an all-night session, hmm?”

He tugged her back and resumed his delightful assault on her neck. “Trust me, the inspiration is more than sufficient to keep me up all night.”

“I’m counting on it,” she retorted through a husky chuckle.

He rolled his hips against hers sensuously. “You can take it to the vault…baby,” he murmured through a deep chortle of his own.

“So, was there a specific reason for you breaking tradition, or did you just want to molest your innocent bride before the wedding?” she wondered.

“Innocent? Hah! This from the woman who just the night before last had her lips around my co…”

“Draco!” she squealed, covering his mouth with her hand. “Someone could hear you.”

“Only Louisa is anywhere near us, and she certainly wouldn’t have a clue,” he returned with a wicked grin after prying her fingers away.

“No, but still…”

He chuckled again and put about an inch of space between them. “Okay, I’ll behave, for now. I really just wanted to see you and tell you that I love you before we both had to get dressed for the ceremony.” He trailed his fingers along her cheek gently. “I never thought I would ever be as happy as I am today.”

“I love you, too, Draco. The only moment that compares is the day Louisa was born, and I’m so sorry that you weren’t with me to experience it firsthand.”

Draco was quiet for a moment, then cautiously proposed, “Well, maybe we’ll be able to celebrate the birth of a second child together. Not immediately, but someday.”

She looked at him with an impish expression. “I was wondering when we’d talk about that again.”

“What? I haven’t harped on it, have I?”

“Not at all. In fact, I’m surprised that we haven’t talked about it more, but I suppose there’ve been bigger priorities in the past few weeks. We’ve mostly talked in the abstract of ‘family’ or ‘children’ but rarely a direct conversation about having more and if or when we’d do that,” she observed. “Please don’t think I’m opposed to the idea, or even neutral about it. I love the possibility that we’d have another baby, truly together this time. And as you said, maybe not immediately, but sometime in the not-too-distant future. Yeah. That would be brilliant.”

“And I thought I couldn’t get any happier,” he murmured into her curls, tightening his embrace.

“Well, love, all of this starts with us getting married in,” she consulted her watch, “just under ninety minutes. I’ve got to get Louisa awake and dressed, then deal with getting myself ready. Ginny and Luna should be here any minute to help me with both of those tasks, so I’m going to kiss you then kick you out of here.”

Draco gleefully accepted her kiss and stole one more before leaving to get into his own formal robes. “I’ll see you in the circle… baby,” he said with a wink, dashing out the door as she tossed a pillow at him.

XXXXX

True to their promises, Hermione’s friends had arrived just moments after Draco had left the room, their own dresses already donned in preparation for the big event. Since Hermione’s and Louisa’s hair had already been coifed at the spa, the tasks were limited to makeup, lingerie and the dress. The satin sheath with a sweetheart neckline was covered by sheer lace that featured a boat-neck bodice and long sleeves. Delicate threads of gold and silver were woven into the appliques. The satin-covered buttons all the way down the back through to the end of the chapel-length train would take several minutes to fasten in the delicate lace fabric, even if they resorted to magic. Louisa’s dress was far simpler, but the complication came in ensuring that she wouldn’t find a way to soil or wrinkle it somewhere along the way. Luna finally decided that the best insurance was a little prevention, and cast a whole array of charms designed to keep the dress clean and well-pressed.

For Draco’s part, his attire was comprised of a mix of magical and Muggle traditions. His fine woolen trousers would have been appropriate as part of any gentleman’s tuxedo, sitting slightly high on the waist, edged with a wide satin stripe on the seams, and pleated in the front. His shirt, as brightly white as one could hope to find, featured pin-pleats, a wing-tip collar, and traditional French cuffs. He used the antique set of studs and cufflinks in platinum and cabochon onyx that were given to him on his thirteenth birthday by his parents. As was common in both wizarding and Muggle traditions, he wore braces under a black silk cummerbund and a hand-tied black silk bowtie. His black silk brocade robe, however, was purely wizard-style; the long-sweep back was cut squarely at the waist, fastened snugly over his abdomen with nine closely set silk-covered buttons, and featured an open u-shaped neckline to highlight his shirt and neckwear. His shoes, in the formal tradition, were opera slippers, complete with flat grosgrain ribbons. He had, however, decided to change into a Muggle-style single-breasted dinner jacket, trimmed with silk notch-collared lapels, after the ceremony was complete. As he looked at his image in the mirror, he was satisfied that Hermione would find the look pleasing.

With less than ten minutes to go before he was due to meet the officiant in his father’s study, Draco patted his pocket to ensure that the two items he needed were at hand. With a deep, steadying breath, he closed his eyes and asked the spirits for blessings for the union he was about to make.

XXXXX

The guests had all arrived and were seated in the Music Room, murmuring softly to their own spouses or friends as they awaited the officiant, Justice Anthony Hewson, the groom and the bride. The charmed harp played softly, the tune ethereal and soothing. The muffled sound of the large grandfather clock in the adjacent hallway striking the half-hour was accompanied by the opening of the double doors that were situated to the rear of the guests’ seats. More quickly than the eye could see, two house-elves secured the doors open to allow the processors to pass through unimpeded.

First, Justice Hewson entered the room, a hand-crafted wicker basket hanging from the crook of his arm. His formal Wizengamot robes ensured that anyone unfamiliar with him on a personal level would recognize his position of authority in the wizarding world and his right to officiate at the joyful gathering.

Immediately behind him was Draco Abraxus Malfoy in all his resplendent finery. His expression was serene as he followed the Justice down the aisle to the space at the front of the room where the solemn circle would be cast around the small stone altar that had been placed there that morning. The two men were focused on the rite to be conducted momentarily and Draco’s eyes were slightly downcast as he soberly focused his magical and spiritual energies on the vows and promises he was about to make. Justice Hewson approached the altar and placed the basket in its center. He then turned and took his place facing the gathering, Draco standing to his left on the right side of the aisle. The groom briefly made eye contact with his parents and nodded once in simple acknowledgement. Socializing would come later; for now, he was focused solely on the wizarding sacrament he and Hermione would enter.

The room fell utterly silent for a full minute, then the charmed harp began to play a melody that was familiar to everyone in the room. Johann Pachelbel’s Canon in D Major was a standard in both the wizarding and Muggle worlds, and had been selected by the couple for precisely that reason. After the first eight bars, little Louisa Granger Malfoy appeared at the open doors in her sweet white dress and carrying a basket of white rose petals. Seeing her father standing at the end of the aisle, she seemed to understand (with the help of a coaxing whisper from her mother, who was standing outside the doors but not yet within view to the gathering) that it was time for her to scatter the petals to make a fragrant path. She walked slowly, instinctively keeping pace with the music as she dropped white blossoms in her wake.

Once the introductory phrases of the music were complete, Hermione took four steps so that she was framed in the center of the open double doors. Squaring her shoulders, and holding the simple bouquet of pure white roses whose stems were wrapped by white silk ribbons, she began her procession toward her fiancé. From the moment she’d appeared at the door, Draco’s eyes had been as fixed on her as hers had on him. Other than Louisa, who had finally reached the front of the room and taken her father’s hand, there might well have been no one else in the room.

Hermione reached the end of the aisle a few moments before the end of the musical selection, and in keeping with tradition, she and Draco faced each other and waited silently until the final strains faded away.

The Justice then spoke. “Friends, family, loved ones. We are all here today to see two people, Hermione and Draco, join hands and be bound together by their love, now and forever. Before we begin the ceremony, we will turn this place into sacred ground. As I cast the circle, please take a moment to visualize loving, positive thoughts for Hermione and Draco.”

With his wand, he marked a circle of about ten feet in diameter, sufficient to enclose the altar, himself, the couple, and their child, as had been requested by the groom. Holding a candle in his left hand, he entered the circle from the east and placed four other candles as markers at the north, east, south and west positions: green to the north to represent Earth, yellow in the east to represent Air, red symbolizing Fire in the south, and blue associated with Water to the west.

He said, “Let it be known that the circle is about to be cast. All who enter the Circle may do so in perfect love and perfect trust.” Moving clockwise around the circle with the lit candle still in hand, he called upon the Deities at each of the four cardinal points.

Lighting the candle in the east from the one he carried, he said, “Guardians of the East, I call upon you  
to watch over the rites of marriage for Hermione and Draco. Powers of knowledge and wisdom, guided by Air, we ask that you keep watch over us tonight within this circle. Let all who enter the circle under your guidance do so in perfect love and perfect trust.”

He moved next to the south, lit the red candle and said, “Guardians of the South, I call upon you to watch over the rites of marriage for Hermione and Draco. Powers of energy and will, guided by Fire, we ask that you keep watch over us tonight within this circle. Let all who enter the circle under your guidance do so in perfect love and perfect trust.”

Next, he circled to the west, lit the blue candle and said, “Guardians of the West, I call upon you to watch over the rites of marriage for Hermione and Draco. Powers of passion and emotion, guided by Water, we ask that you keep watch over us tonight within this circle. Let all who enter the circle under your guidance do so in perfect love and perfect trust.”

Finally, he moved to the last candle in the north and said, “Guardians of the North, I call upon you to watch over the rites of marriage for Hermione and Draco. Powers of endurance and strength, guided by Earth, we ask that you keep watch over us tonight within this circle. Let all who enter the circle under your guidance do so in perfect love and perfect trust.”

He turned to face Hermione and Draco and asked, “How do you enter the circle?”

Hermione answered first, “In perfect love and perfect trust.”

Draco replied, his voice strong and clear, “In perfect love and perfect trust.”

Justice Hewson then said, “The circle has been cast, and this is now a sacred place. We will now consecrate the rings.”

From the basket that he had set upon the altar, he drew a white candle, a silver cup filled with water, a small crystal bowl containing salt, and incense. He lit the candle and the incense and took the rings offered by Hermione and Draco (Hermione’s an eternity band of platinum and brilliant-cut diamonds and Draco’s a high-polished wide platinum band bisected horizontally by nine small square-cut diamonds and a crosshatch detail), facing north. He passed them over the salt and said, “Powers of the North, guardians of the Earth, I consecrate these rings and charge them with your energies. I purify them this night and make them sacred.”

Then, he turned to the east and held them in the smoke of the incense, saying, “Powers of the East, guardians of the Air, I consecrate these rings and charge them with your energies. I purify them this night and make them sacred.”

Next, he faced south and passed the rings over the flame of the candle. He said, “Powers of the South, guardians of Fire, I consecrate these rings and charge them with your energies. I purify them this night and make them sacred.”

Finally, he moved to the west and passed the rings over the cup of water. He intoned once more, “Powers of the West, guardians of Water, I consecrate these rings and charge them with your energies. I purify them this night and make them sacred.”

He faced the altar and held the rings above his head, saying, “I charge these rings in the name of Old Ones, the Ancients, the Sun and the Moon and the Stars. By the powers of Earth, Air, Fire, and Water, I banish the energies of any previous owners and make them new and fresh. I consecrate these rings in the names of those who bind themselves together tonight, Hermione Jean Granger and Draco Abraxas Malfoy.

“The circle itself is an infinite thing. It is magical and never-ending, never changing and yet always adaptable, a ring with no beginning and no conclusion. Like the circle, true love itself is infinite. It goes on, knowing no boundaries or restrictions. It flourishes and blooms in the light and in the dark, laying down no ultimatums, making no demands at all. Love, in its infinite form, is something that cannot be forced. It cannot be taken away. It is a gift we give to ourselves, and an honor we give to others from the bottom of our hearts and souls.

“When two people come together and give one another this gift, this most sacred gift of all, it is certain the universe is sitting back and smiling upon us, laughing and showering us with every possible blessing.

“Today is a day to celebrate the love of Draco and Hermione. They are two people who are the halves of a whole. Two souls, coming together to form one single being, two hearts, beating in a single rhythm.

“Today, we ask that the infinite light of the divine shine upon this union. In that spirit, I offer a blessing to this ceremony.

“Blessed be this marriage with the gifts from the East -- new beginnings that come each day with the rising sun, communication of the heart, mind, body and soul.

“Blessed be this marriage with the gifts of the South -- the light of the heart, the heat of passion, and the warmth of a loving home.

“Blessed be this marriage with the gifts of the West -- the rushing excitement of a raging river, the soft and pure cleansing of a rainstorm, and a commitment as deep as the ocean itself.

“Blessed be this marriage with the gifts of the North -- a solid foundation on which to build your lives, abundance and growth of your home, and the stability to be found by holding one another at the end of the day.

“Hermione, Draco, these four simple blessings will help you on your journey that begins today. However, they are only tools. They are tools which you must use together to create the light, the strength, the infinite energy now and forever of a love you both so richly deserve.

“Now, I bid you look into one another's eyes and hearts. Draco, please place the ring on Hermione's finger. Do you promise to show Hermione your honor and fidelity, to share her laughter and joy, to support and stand by her in times of difficulty, to dream and hope together with her, and to spend each day loving her more than the day before?”

“I do,” Draco answered, looking deeply into Hermione’s eyes.

“Hermione, please give Draco the ring. Do you, Hermione, promise to show Draco your honor and fidelity, to share his hopes and dreams, to laugh with him and share endless days of joy, to stand side by side with him in times of trouble, and to spend each day loving him more than the day before?”

“I do,” she replied, her joy shining in the flush of her cheeks and the brightness of her eyes.

“You may now speak your vows,” the Justice said. “Draco, if you will.”

Draco nodded and took Hermione’s hand with his left, keeping hold of Louisa’s with his right, as he had throughout the ceremony. In contrast to his earlier full-throated replies, he spoke softly, clearly intending to speak to Hermione alone. “Hermione, my love, my heart has dreamed for this day for more than a decade, even in the moments that my head didn’t realize it. Now that we’re here, facing each other and promising our lives to each other, this moment surpasses every hope I could have imagined. I’ve made more mistakes than I can count in my life, many of them directed at you, but the one thing I know I’ve done right is to open my heart to loving you fully and forever. I can’t promise that I won’t ever make another mistake, but I do promise to do everything in my power to make it right. I can’t promise that we will always agree, but I do promise that I will always listen with an open mind and a clear heart. I can’t promise that we won’t face challenges or hardships in what I hope will be very, very long lives together, but I do promise that I’ll leave no stone unturned to find solutions and answers. I do promise that you will still be beautiful to me when you’re a hundred years old. I do promise that my love for you is faithful and constant. I do promise that I will do my best to be a good father to Louisa and to any other children with whom we may be blessed. I do promise that with my last breath, my only thoughts will be that I would wish for one more day of loving you.”

Surprising both Hermione and the Justice, Draco then dropped to one knee and faced Louisa. “I know you may not understand everything that’s happening here today, sweetheart, but Papa’s making promises to love Mummy forever. I want you to know that I promise to love you forever, too. I promise to support and protect you all the days of my life. I promise to chase away the monsters and to fix your booboos. I promise to teach you that the best example you could have to be a strong and wonderful woman is your mother. I promise to encourage you to grow and learn with a free and curious spirit. I promise to be the best Papa I know how to be.” He reached into his pocket and removed a heart-shaped locket crafted from eighteen karat yellow gold with intertwined hearts in white gold on the front. The back was engraved with the words, “You are more precious to me than a heart of gold.” He fastened it around her neck and kissed her forehead, finally standing upright to meet Hermione’s gaze. He shouldn’t have been surprised to see them brimming with joyous tears.

“Gods, that was perfect,” she whispered to him. “I love you so much.” 

Justice Hewson surreptitiously twisted his lips in amusement and said, “Hermione, if you’d like to speak your vows now…”

She nodded and took a deep breath. “Draco, ours is a love that I never expected, but I welcome, embrace, and return it fully with my heart, body, and soul. Our beginnings may have been less than ideal, but we’ve grown and healed together as much as we have on our own. I promise to try to be a source of healing, and never of deliberate hurt. I promise to treat your heart with as much care as my own, and never to place mine above yours. I promise to try to be your partner in all things, and never to purposely overwhelm you with my overbearing tendencies. I promise to listen fully, and never to leap to conclusions. I promise to respect and honor you, especially when we disagree. I promise that I will be by your side until one of us crosses into the next realm, and that my love for you will survive into eternity. You are my missing limb, my other half, the blood in my veins, the rhythm of my heart. You and our daughter are my everything.”

The Justice then said, “The vows of love have been spoken. I ask you now to cross your hands over each other, and take one another’s hands.” As Draco released Louisa’s hand to comply, she stood beside him and wrapped her hand in the fabric of his long, formal robe. Hermione smiled at her and, with a whisper, told her to remain at her papa’s side.

He wrapped a cord around their wrists, biding them together loosely and tying a knot.

“Draco, Hermione, this cord of ribbons symbolizes so much. It is your life, your love, and the eternal connection that the two of you have found with one another. The ties of this handfasting are not formed by these ribbons, or even by the knots connecting them. They are formed instead by your vows, by your pledges, your souls, and your two hearts, now bound together as one.

“As one last bond, Draco, Hermione, will you please seal your promises with a kiss?”

Justice Hewson then unwrapped the cord without untying the knot. “Please turn to face your family and friends who love you. I present to you, ladies and gentlemen, the Viscount and Viscountess Malfoy.

“And now, we will dismiss this sacred place. As I close the circle, please send all of your loving thoughts towards our newly bonded couple, so that they may begin their life together with all of your blessings.”

He then stopped at each station of the circle, dismissing each quarter in turn.

“The circle has been dismissed. Friends, the family has requested your presence at a celebratory dinner in the White Ballroom, directly across the hall. Blessings be upon all who gathered here in support, love, and fellowship.”

Draco offered his arm to his wife and swept their daughter onto his opposite hip. As the strains of Ludwig van Beethoven’s Symphony Number 9, Opus 125 filled the air, he saw that their choice of music had been perfectly reflective of the moment. He’d never felt, nor seen in his bride, greater joy than at this moment, when they had truly become a family.


	33. Matrimony - Part 2

Narcissa and Lucius had followed their son and brand new daughter-in-law down the aisle after the recessional, the elder witch gently placing her hand on Hermione’s arm. Just outside the Music Room’s doors, she’d warmly embraced the couple and offered her very best wishes. Lucius kissed Hermione’s cheek and held his son’s hand for a long moment; it was more than a businessman’s shake by far, but Lucius was not a demonstrative man if there were witnesses outside the immediate family. “Lucius, darling, would you be so kind as to ensure that the guests gather in the Ballroom? There’s something quick we need to do,” she said, gently prodding the couple and their daughter toward another of the formal parlors in that wing of the manse.

They exchanged glances, neither having a clue what the elder witch wanted from them at the moment. The question was answered quickly as they were escorted into the room she’d indicated. “It dawned on me that no one had thought to make arrangements for a photographer to document this joyous occasion, so I took the liberty of hiring someone to do at least a portrait or two for posterity,” she explained. “It will also give the three of you a few moments of privacy before joining your guests for dinner. I thought you might want some time for reflection.”

Draco’s expression was both dumbfounded and grateful. “You are a genius and an angel, Mother. Thank you, for both of these opportunities.” He leaned in and kissed her cheek, and Hermione smiled tearily as she echoed his appreciation and affection.

“Thank you, Mother. That’s a brilliant idea,” she said through her happy sniffles. When Narcissa seemed surprised at the new form of address, she hesitated and asked, “Is it all right if I call you that now that we’re truly part of the same family?”

Narcissa embraced her fully. “Oh, darling, it’s more than all right. I’d have been pleased and honored for you to call me ‘Mother’ years ago.”

The two separated and Narcissa left the room, pausing for a moment to blow a kiss to Louisa. The photographer, who introduced himself as “Jerome,” then caught the couple’s attention and asked them to stand together near the hearth. After taking several pictures of the couple in various stances, most including Louisa and a couple of each person individually, he nodded to them politely and said, “These will be ready for your review in a few days. I’ll leave you to it, then.” He quickly packed up his equipment, and less than two minutes later, he was gone, giving the young family their time alone.

Draco turned to Hermione and, gathering her into his arms, kissed her deeply for long moments. Louisa, who had by this time become rather familiar with the practice, toddled around the room looking for more interesting diversions. Having momentarily had his fill, Draco ended the kiss and rested his forehead against hers. “I love you, Hermione.”

“I love you more,” she replied, teasing him with the back-and-forth in which they often engaged. Sighing contentedly, she snuggled closely into his chest. “This day has been just perfect, and I was so very moved by your vows, especially the way you included Louisa. That’s a memory to tuck away for when she’s older, for certain.”

He chuckled. “I couldn’t leave my little princess out, could I? I just thought it would be something that really bonded the entire family,” he said, turning his head to watch the tot as she closely examined a rather large painting of unicorns that hung over the marble fireplace. “Apparently, she’s not too impressed - on to other things already.”

“Except that she keeps touching the locket. Watch,” Hermione noted, tilting her head to mark the occasion when Louisa once again reached for the gold heart. “Did you put a picture inside?”

He shook his head. “I thought we’d select something together. Maybe one of the photographs that Jerome took today would be a good choice,” he suggested.

“That’s a wonderful idea,” she agreed.

“Oh, and the chain is magical so that the length will change to accommodate her growth. She’ll be able to wear it long into the future, if she wishes,” he added.

“Knowing how much of a Papa’s girl she’s become in the last eight months, I’d venture a guess that it will be a very long time before she decides to remove it.”

“Not until some boy comes along with something that entices her more. And that had better not be for another twenty-five or thirty years,” he warned, only half-jokingly.

“That’s a bridge we’ll cross when we get to it,” she retorted. Hearing the grandfather clock in the hall chime six o’clock, she sought Draco’s agreement. “As much as I’d love to stay here, just the three of us, I think we should go formally greet our guests.”

“Yes, we should. Particularly as we caused so much kerfuffle with our very sudden nuptials,” he allowed. “Let me just call for a house-elf to get my dinner jacket. This robe may be the height of wizarding fashion, but it’s bloody hot.” They waited for all of forty-five seconds for the elf to return with the tuxedo coat and whisk away the robe. Draco donned the jacket, and Hermione smoothed the fabric over his shoulders, not because it needed it, but for the opportunity to touch him. He understood, as the need was just as strong in him, and he kissed her one more time before they left the room.

Offering her his arm, he asked, “Shall we?”

She rested her hand in the crook of his elbow and gathered Louisa to her side, taking her hand, too. “Let’s.”

When the doors to the White Ballroom slowly and silently swung open, the couple and their daughter were welcomed by enthusiastic applause and the sounds of the small musical ensemble playing “A Moment Like This,” which had been requested by Draco. Making their way to the table where they joined the senior Malfoys and Justice Hewson, Hermione helped Louisa into a booster chair so that she could sit comfortably with the adults. House-elves appeared at each of the five tables and uncorked the champagne, pouring the libation into the crystal flutes at each place setting.

Lucius cleared his throat for the group’s attention and said, “Please join me in offering a toast to the most wonderful couple I’ve had the pleasure to know in better than thirty years. To my lovely daughter-in-law, Hermione, I formally and wholeheartedly welcome you to the Malfoy family. To my merciful son, Draco, I couldn’t have chosen better for you if I’d done it myself.” He raised his glass, offered a wink to the couple at the inside joke, and sipped the champagne.

Once the guests were seated, Draco took up his glass and asked for their attention. “I would like to thank my parents for helping us arrange this impromptu celebration, my lovely wife,” here, he smiled very broadly, “for indulging my whims and impulses, our dear friends who have traveled so far to join us, and our friends who have been our supporters since we were mere children. All of you have contributed in immeasurable ways to making this evening even more memorable than I could have hoped. Hermione and I would also like to extend special thanks to Chef Marcel Janeford, our friend from Salem and my former boss, for designing and preparing tonight’s feast. I’ve had the pleasure of enjoying his creations more times than I can count, and I assure you, you are in for a wonderful treat. To our friends,” he concluded, raising his glass and taking a sip.

As he took his seat beside Hermione, the meal service began. The guests enjoyed a trio of appetizers, including smoked salmon on lemon herb blini with dill crème fraiche and caviar, prosciutto and roasted red pepper phllyo bundles with rosemary, and mango, apple and mint bruschetta with melted brie cheese. The second course featured a salad of winter root vegetables, dressed in a roasted garlic and blueberry balsamic vinaigrette. Freshly made pumpkin ravioli with sage butter was served as the third course. For the fish course, the guests were presented with almond-crusted salmon with aged red wine sauce. The main course gave the guests their choice of roasted filet mignon with potato leek galette, sautéed spinach, and roasted vegetables, or herb roasted Cornish game hens on top of a red bliss potato cake with lemon, blanched garlic and wilted pea greens. A light dessert of saffron rice pudding topped with whipped cream and edible gold leaf was presented as a prelude to the beautiful cake that would be served a little later in the evening.

Hermione and Draco danced (canoodled while vertical) and spent time with each of their guests throughout the evening, accepting their warm wishes and congratulations. As they’d requested in their invitations, donations to support Draco’s charitable organization, the Feeding Families Foundation, were appreciated in lieu of gifts and their friends had been stunningly generous. They’d taken a few minutes away at eight o’clock to put Louisa to bed; it had been an incredibly long day for the little one and her uncharacteristic crankiness made it clear that it was time for her to leave the adults to do their celebrating without her.

Marking the final ceremonial aspect of the evening, the couple cut into the beautiful three-tier (“I know I said two, but it just looked prettier with the third layer,” Marcel had said) cake, which was taken away by the elves for the guests’ late evening enjoyment, just after ten o’clock.

On the dance floor again, after sharing brief dances with most of the males in attendance (only Thomas, the elder of the two Roy brothers, hadn’t been brave enough to join in, being in that awkward tween phase), most often interrupted by her slightly impatient and marginally possessive new spouse, Hermione noted by the slow and languorous pace of the last three musical selections that the evening was beginning to wind down. After the last two dances, no one had dared to interfere with Draco’s rather obvious forays into seduction and subtle foreplay with his bride. If they’d heard what he was whispering into Hermione’s ear, they’d have all already left.

“I’m going to lick my way down your back as I release each and every one of those pretty little buttons,” he promised in a sultry tone.

“You mean you won’t rip the thing off of me?” she challenged.

“I’m assuming you’d rather not have something quite so lovely in shreds,” he replied, fingering the lace fabric gently, “but if you don’t care, I’ll be happy to oblige.”

“Well, we do have all night, so I suppose it’s appropriate to take your time,” she murmured, the smile in her tone palpable.

“And I promise you that I will take all night. I intend to have you over and over and over again, wife,” he vowed, nibbling her earlobe as his warm breath tickled her neck. “Assuming, of course, that you have no objection,” he added in an attempt to maintain some semblance of polite restraint.

“Gods, no! I’ve got Pepper-up potion available for both of us, should it be required. I’m thoroughly in favor of all night.”

“Trust me, the potion won’t be necessary,” he said, pulling back a couple of inches to look at her pointedly. “Staying up won’t be an issue.”

“I’ve noticed,” she commented slyly. “Now I understand why you went with the pleated trousers.”

“Why do you think I’ve been dancing so close to you for the past half-hour?”

“The chicken or the egg?”

“Hmm, good point,” he acknowledged, resisting the urge to roll against her hips in full view of their guests.

“Do you think it’s late enough that we can make a reasonably graceful exit?” she proposed.

Pausing for just long enough to consult the pocket watch that his father had given to him, he said, “Absolutely. It’s ten ‘til eleven. Perfectly respectable time for a groom and his delectable wife to make their moderately hasty retreat.”

“So, we’ll finish this song, say our goodbyes, then go home to our bed,” she suggested.

“Well, sort of,” he hedged. “The first two, yes. I’ve got something else planned for the third.”

She cocked an eyebrow at him in question.

“Don’t worry; it’s all been handled. All you have to do is hang on tight when we leave,” he said smugly.

“And whom, pray tell, did you enlist to aid you in ensuring that there was nothing I’d need?” She now had her suspicions, as one of her girlfriends had been taking atypically careful note of what Hermione had with her and didn’t while they were preparing for the day.

“Guess,” he prodded.

“Ginny,” she stated with some degree of certainty.

Snapping his fingers, he said, “Darn, I thought she’d been cagier than that.”

“Oh, I didn’t suspect anything then; just now in hindsight, it seems rather obvious. So, where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise. You’ll see it when we get there,” he said, not giving any hint.

She shrugged and grinned. “I’m game. I trust you.”

“I will tell you that it’s in Hyde Park,” he said, giving in to his own temptation to spill the beans, “but nothing more. I didn’t want to venture too far because we do have to be back sometime tomorrow.”

“Draco, it’s more than fine. We’ll take our honeymoon as we discussed, in the spring when the weather’s better. I hadn’t expected anything more than going back to the townhouse, so you’ve already given me a delightful surprise. No apologizing allowed!”

“Okay. I’ll stop feeling guilty for not whisking you away to some exotic locale,” he said.

“We’ll have ample opportunities for that in the future, and the entire wedding was all very spur of the moment. We wouldn’t have had time to plan something that elaborate,” she said.

“And all of this chatter is simply delaying our arrival. Song’s over, as far as I’m concerned. Let’s start saying our goodbyes,” he said, nodding at the leader of the ensemble to decrease the volume of their music so that the guests would understand what was happening. Narcissa had commissioned the group to play until midnight, but they’d be doing it without the happy couple.

As they made their way around the room hand in hand, they received more warm wishes and congratulations and numerous winks and nudges. Finally, they’d said their goodnights to all but Draco’s parents, who were waiting near the ballroom’s entrance as a way to facilitate the younger couple’s departure.

“Mother, Father, we want to thank you for everything you’ve done to help us put this celebration together in such a short time. I know I said it earlier, but we really do appreciate the effort and time you expended. It was an exceptional and memorable way for us to make our vows,” Draco said. “Now, though, we’re rather… eager to be on our way. We’ll be back sometime tomorrow afternoon.”

“Thank you, Mother and Father,” Hermione echoed. “We’re both so happy that we were all together to celebrate our union. Please give Louisa an extra hug from us in the morning.” Hugs and kisses were shared among the four and Draco again took Hermione’s hand and led her to the main foyer where he’d stashed formal traveling cloaks for both of them, his a rich black wool trimmed in black velvet and hers a hooded crimson velvet cloak edged with white fur. Wrapping his arms around her once they’d bundled up, he Apparated them straight into the wizarding lobby of the Mandarin Oriental Hotel.

Approaching the registration desk, Draco said, “Viscount and Viscountess Malfoy checking in for our reservation.” It was exceedingly rare that he used his title, a consolation prize left over from his many-times-great-grandfather’s unsuccessful courtship of Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth I, but in places like this, it tended to ensure that one received slightly better care and just the right amount of attentive service.

Hermione glanced around at the opulent surroundings and realized where they were. It was one of the most exclusive and beautiful hotels in the country, and Draco would have had to pull a few strings and cash in more than a few favors to get a reservation on such short notice.

“Yes, Lord Malfoy. Your bags have already been delivered and are awaiting you in your suite. The arrangements you requested for food and beverage service have also been made.” Lifting his hand to catch his attention, the desk manager called over one of the gentlemen staffing the concierge desk. “Gerard will escort you.”

“Thank you,” he glanced at the man’s unobtrusive name tag, “Peter. You’ve been most accommodating.”

The concierge then approached. “If you’ll follow me, Lord Malfoy, Lady Malfoy, I’ll show you to your suite.” With a sharp nod, Draco acknowledged the man and offered his arm to Hermione. As they made their way through the hotel lobby and toward the elevator that would carry them to the top floor of the building, Gerard pointed out the amenities that would be available to them during their stay. Hermione found that all rather amusing; once they were ensconced in their room, it was unlikely that they’d emerge for anything less than the building afire. Room service for brunch would be the only contact the pair intended to have with the outside world.

Finally reaching the entrance to their suite, Gerard used the electronic key card to release the lock, explaining, “The hotel uses a full combination of magical and Muggle conveniences. You’re free to partake of both or either in any way you wish. The room security allows you to reset your own wards, but initial entry must be made using the electronic key system.” Hermione noticed as he spoke that the placard on the wall beside the double-door entry read “Imperial Suite.”

“If you will,” Gerard said with a minimal wave of his hand, “I’ll show you the suite’s offerings.”

“Briefly,” Draco said, making it clear he didn’t wish for an extended tour.

The doors opened onto an elegant salon, decorated in gold, white, and cream and accented with gilt and crystal fixtures. To the right was a dining area where a large basket of fruit sat on the buffet. A bottle of champagne was chilling in a sterling silver bucket, and three covered platters indicated that there were other treats available. To the left, a large bedchamber was similarly appointed, adding accents of deep burgundy and featuring a large pair of floor-to-ceiling windows, draped in gold and overlooking the gardens below. The most important item in the room was a king-sized bed that appeared to be nearly two feet thick with all its layers of featherbeds, comforters, and linens. Finally, an elegant, sleek black and white marble bath completed the facilities.

“That will do, Gerard,” Draco said, and he dropped a sufficiently large pound note in the man’s hand that it was clear there would be nothing else required until he or his wife specifically made a request.

“Very good, Lord Malfoy, Lady Malfoy. It is my understanding that your clothing and personal effects have been tended to by your house-elf, and you will find them in the closet and cupboards,” he said, handing the key card to Draco and nodding sharply to each of them. He turned on his heel and left them finally, blissfully alone.

Draco had already turned to face Hermione and reached for the silver clasp at her neck to assist her in removing the heavy velvet cloak. He caught the falling expanse of fabric over his arm and swung it away, dropping it over one of the heavily stuffed arm chairs. His eyes riveted upon hers, the intensity of his gaze burning brightly, he carelessly removed his own winter wrap and tossed it over his shoulder, letting it fall wherever it would. He grasped her shoulders tightly, not enough to bruise or cause pain, but making it clear that he was claiming her in this moment.

He pulled her toward him and crushed his lips against hers, easily coaxing her mouth open with the surprisingly gentle sweep of his tongue. She certainly wasn’t putting up any resistance; it seemed that she was simply curious about the path he planned to take and entirely willing to follow his lead. His hands had shifted to splay against her back, running from her shoulder blades to the dimples at the base of her spine. The lace of her beautiful dress was delightfully soft against his fingertips, but it was keeping him from touching her, and thus, it had to go. He tilted his head back from hers for a moment and said, “Turn around, angel.”

She smiled at him seductively and did as he’d requested.

Draco first removed the crystal comb from her hair, allowing the curls to fall free, just grazing the tops of her shoulders. He was thrilled that she’d allowed it to grow just a little; he loved running his fingers through the waves and curls while they snuggled together in their bed. He buried his nose in the ringlets, breathing deeply to inhale the scent that was all hers. Remaining there for a moment or two, he whispered words of love that elicited a pleasant shiver, all the while running his fingers lightly along her arms from her shoulders to her wrists. As he drew his hands upward for a final caress, he moved them along her shoulders until they met at her spine. There, he gathered her hair gently and shifted it so that it rested to one side of her neck. He intended to keep the promises that he’d made to her this day, and one of them had been to release each of her buttons one by one, licking her exposed skin as it was revealed to him. With the first button, he placed an open-mouthed kiss against the base of her neck. With the second, he added a flick of his tongue. With the third, he swirled. The fourth brought a bit of suction, and Hermione was already trembling under his attention. “Mmm, love, you taste so sweet.”

“Honey dust. Another little surprise I thought you might enjoy,” she purred.

“I do. I most certainly do,” he said, then continued on his trek toward her derriere.

It took more than five minutes for Draco to get halfway through the long column of fastenings, and he reached a point where Hermione could easily slip out of the gown. He spoke to her softly, telling her what was in his thoughts, “I want you so much that I can’t see straight, but I want to savor every second of the first time we fully make love. This time, I want slow and delicate and languid. Next time, after we rest a bit, I want fast and hard and vigorous. What do you think about that, Hermione?” His question was ended with a wet kiss to the base of her spine where he’d bent to rest on one knee.

Her first attempt at an answer was lost in a sigh as he wrapped his fingers around her hips. Eventually, she was able to respond to his pronouncement and his question. “I think that I’m so aroused by what you’re doing that I would say yes to just about anything you asked. I’m happy to follow your lead tonight.”

“And the next two times are yours to guide as you see fit,” he promised. “Or ten, or thirty. I’m not fussy, except for these first two, you see.”

“Oh?” she asked through a moan. “Any particular reason?”

“Just the fulfillment of my deepest desires and fantasies.” He chuckled deeply, then worked his way back up her spine with the flat of his tongue.

“Good enough for me,” she murmured, her tone full of amusement.

Draco stood and, taking her shoulders again, turned her to face him. He gently grasped the neckline of the dress and drew down the bodice over Hermione’s arms and torso, revealing the white lace strapless bra that had been part of the ensemble she’d hidden from him in the little pink bag. He cocked an eyebrow and hummed appreciatively. “This, darling, was worth the wait. Exquisite, indeed. It will, however, need to come off in the not-too-distant future.”

The weight of the dress in his hands was sufficient that when it cleared her hips, it fell to the floor. That revealed parts two and three of her surprise from the little pink bag: a matching white lace thong that left next to nothing to his imagination, and the set completed by the lace suspenders holding up a pair of very sheer white silk stockings. She still wore the three-inch heeled white pumps, accented by lace and drawn together at her instep with a simple narrow satin bow. When she bent slightly as though to remove them, Draco stopped her. “Let me,” he whispered, his voice gone coarse and husky and his pitch from tenor to baritone. Dropping to one knee again, he lifted her right foot and rested it on his thigh. She reached out for his shoulder to steady herself; it wasn’t just balancing on one foot that was making her shake. Grasping one of the tails of the ribbon between his thumb and forefinger, he pulled slowly and the bow unraveled. He loosened the sides of the shoe and cupped the heel, pulling it off and tossing it over his shoulder. He bent and kissed her instep, then placed her foot on the floor, reaching for her left foot and repeating the process. The dress, still in a puddle around her, was removed when Draco silently encouraged her with a glance and a nod to place both of her hands on his shoulders and step out of the circle of fabric.

Still on his knee, and still fully clothed, Draco pressed forward to kiss her navel and worked his way up to her ribs, right and left, flicking his tongue against her satiny skin and blowing gently to warm each spot that his mouth had touched. His hands stroked gently over her hips and buttocks, touching and exploring reverently and thoroughly, regardless of the fact that it was not unfamiliar territory. He then dragged his fingers along her hipbones to the top of her thighs where the suspenders secured her stockings. He released one side then the other, rolling down each scrap of silk to her ankles, and carefully tugging them off by the toes. He stood then, and took her hand.

“I think that the bedroom will probably be more comfortable and suitable, don’t you?” he prompted.

“If it means that I can encourage you to remove more clothing, either mine or yours, I’m especially in favor,” she agreed.

“Oh, you can count on that, love,” he answered, his words as much a vow as his promises before the Justice had been. He stood and hooked his left arm behind her knees and his right under her shoulders. In less than five seconds, he deposited her on the bed. He noted with some bemusement that the covers on the bed had been pulled down at some point between their brief tour several minutes earlier and their entry into the room. The facility either had fairly sophisticated charms in place, or a house-elf had evaded their notice and done the job. What was far more important in the moment, though, was that his wife was reaching up for him, wanting to pull him closer. He obliged happily for long moments, licking, nipping, sucking and nibbling her lips, and causing another round of shivers as he teased the tip of his tongue across the roof of her mouth.

When taking in oxygen became a good idea, they separated briefly and she said, “I believe I requested that there be more clothing removed, and you still have every stitch on, including your jacket. While I think you look incredibly handsome in your formalwear, there’s nothing I like better than you completely naked. May I assist?”

He smirked at her request, but didn’t deny her the opportunity. Knowing that it would be nearly impossible to manage otherwise, he removed his dinner jacket and laid it on the bench at the foot of the bed. That accomplished, he rejoined Hermione on the bed, taking another opportunity to kiss her languidly. This time, though, she wiggled her hands between them and started to work on removing the studs from his shirt. Since there were typically fewer studs than buttons, it didn’t take very long. He helped the process by removing the cufflinks, tossing them on the nightstand and releasing the fasteners on the cummerbund, dropping it on the floor. Hooking his thumbs under his braces, he allowed them to fall at his sides. He turned onto his hip to face her as she pushed the shirt open and over his shoulders, tugging at it to reveal the crisp white vest that she’d learned he typically only wore during the winter months. She reached for his waistband and released the hook at the top of the fly to allow a bit of room to tug the undergarment out of his trousers. Since she seemed to be struggling with the thing, Draco reached an arm over to his back, grabbed the shirt between his shoulder blades and tugged it up and over his head. It landed on the floor in the vicinity of the cummerbund.

When Hermione brushed her hand against the front of his trousers, the pleats miserably failing to conceal his prominent erection, Draco hissed his response. “Don’t touch me yet, love, please. I’m barely holding on to my self-control.”

Her eyes twinkled with mischief. “How about here, then?” she asked, spreading her fingers over his pectorals and kneading them firmly, using her thumbs to gently tease his nipples.

“Ungh,” he grunted back at her. “You’re determined to make me lose it, aren’t you, witch?”

She leaned forward and briefly trailed her tongue along his collarbone. Shrugging, she whispered, “Well, not specifically. I just can’t keep my hands off you, and I want you to feel as good as you make me feel.” She punctuated her words with a languid flick and twirl of her tongue against his earlobe.

He blew out a shuddering breath. “Well, then, maybe this first time won’t be quite as slow as I originally intended.” He shifted his weight backward slightly, giving her access to his body, and murmured to her, “Unzip me, then, angel.”

She trailed her nails delicately along his ribs and the subtle ridges of his abdomen, at last reaching his fly and gently drawing down the zipper, the sound of it unnaturally loud in the space that echoed only their breath and heartbeats.

Once the fastening was released, Draco lifted his hips and shoved the garment down and over his legs, tossing it to the floor once it cleared his feet. He noted her pleased expression when it was revealed that he’d followed wizarding tradition by foregoing boxers or pants. It was clear that she also now understood why the brush of her hand had elicited a more pronounced reaction than usual. Aside from the delicious friction from the fine wool, he was as fully engorged as she’d ever seen him, stiff, purple, and weeping with need.

He bent for a second to remove his socks and then pressed against her, wrapping one leg over hers to draw her into his body and exploring her mouth fully with his tongue. His hands roamed over her back and hips, caressing and massaging as he encountered the dips, swells, and planes that he’d come to know so well. Running his fingers along her spine, he brushed against the hooks on her lacy bra and twisted them open. When the garment fell away from her body, he moved down to place open-mouthed kisses on the tops of her breasts. He teased her for several moments, knowing how much she loved it when he suckled her nipples, and prolonging the delightful torture until he finally swirled his tongue around one peak, then gave her the deep suction that she craved. When she began to whimper in delight, holding his head close to her breast, he released the nub with a final swirl of his tongue and moved to give its twin the same treatment. When she mirrored his actions with pinches and caresses of his nipples, sending delicious jolts from his chest straight to his groin, he added a gentle scrape of his teeth against her, drawing her gasps and sighs.

“Gods, Draco, please don’t make me wait,” she pleaded breathlessly.

In response, he left her breasts and moved down her torso, licking, nipping, and sucking along her ribs and stomach until he reached her hips. His own patience was beginning to grow a bit thin and he hooked his thumbs into the waistbands of both the suspenders and her thong and pulled them down over her hips and legs with one assertive tug, leaving her fully bare.

He silently caressed her knee and she drew it up, opening her center to him completely. It took him less than a second to be on her with his mouth, twirling his tongue on her clit and lapping at her opening, already so wet with arousal. He mumbled incoherently against her, the movement of his lips adding to the friction and her pleasure. Draco added a long, slim finger, then another, curling them up against her pelvic bone to tease the g-spot that he’d discovered weeks earlier, and he stroked in time with the swipes and swirls of his tongue, raising her pulse as her hips began to lift fitfully to meet his mouth.

“Mmm, no, Draco. I don’t want to come yet,” she gasped, attempting to slow him down as he brought her higher toward her peak. “Please, I need you inside me now.”

He drew back slightly, looking into her eyes. “I love you, angel,” he whispered, then shifted his body so that he was finally positioned with his straining erection against her opening. She drew him down so that he rested on his elbows and met her mouth in a deep kiss, sharing the taste of her as he tangled his tongue against her own.

He pulled back and paused briefly, then asked, “Contraception?”

“Handled. We’re good for a month,” she replied, grateful for the ease and convenience that wizarding potions offered.

“Then let’s not wait another minute,” he murmured against her neck, recapturing her lips for another kiss. With the slightest shift of his hips, his crown was inside her and he pulled away from her mouth to gasp. She tilted her hips up and forward, and suddenly, he was fully sheathed within her. His hand brushed tenderly against her curls as he locked his pelvis against hers for a long moment. “My wife,” he uttered reverently and with awe.

He began to move within her slowly, stroking fully so that his tip nearly left her body with each pass. He was already fighting for control, but he was determined to make their first coupling the physical manifestation of his deep love for this woman. He’d read once about a position that he thought might prolong his stamina while giving her a deeper experience and, with another unhurried stroke he ensured that he was fully sheathed inside her walls. He wrapped his arms around her back and brought them both upright so that she was seated in his lap, her legs wrapped behind him while he rested on his haunches. It would take some strength, but he felt up to the task.

His felt less than the whole of his stroke in this position, but seemed to feel deeper to Hermione, if her moans were any indication. Their proximity also meant that his pubic bone was hitting her clit with more force, and he was better able to use his hands and mouth to touch, kiss, and suckle along the upper half of her body.

“Gods, Hermione, you feel like velvet. I never want to be anywhere but inside of you,” he said through a groan.

“I love how you fill me up, Draco,” she answered, her breath hitching. “I want you to fuck me forever.”

“That’s another promise I’ll be happy to make, angel,” he said, struggling to get the words out over his arousal and exertion. “I’ll fuck you, make love to you, ride you, take you… any time, day or night. My cock belongs to you, love.”

She dropped her head into the crook of his neck and swirled her tongue, then suckled deeply. “Mine. All of you. But especially your beautiful cock,” she said with a touch of humor, emphasizing her point with an extra squeeze of her vaginal muscles, causing him to growl deeply.

“I’m so close, love. Please tell me you are, too,” he said, desperation creeping into his tone after the several minutes they’d been joined.

“Very close, love,” she answered. “Please, take my breast in your mouth,” she begged.

Dipping his head to her nipple while maintaining his deep thrusting was a bit of a challenge in this position, but if that’s what she wanted to send her over the edge, he’d find a way to oblige. He swirled and suckled and gently bit her tip, the intense sensation fueling her excitement. His own orgasm was beginning to crest and the thrusts of his hips became more assertive and erratic. The additional friction was enough for both of them and she cried out her climax, adding words of love mixed with the slightly raunchy chatter they both seemed to enjoy. “Please, Draco, don’t ever stop. I want to come around your cock all night.”

That, and one final thrust locking his penis fully inside her, was enough. Draco released with a long, deep groan, then whispered in her ear, “Gods, baby, I love you.”

Staying sheathed inside her, he brought them both down to the bed and although he tried to roll his weight off of her, Hermione would have none of it. She locked her arms and legs around him, encouraging him to rest fully against and within her body as their breathing and heartbeats slowly returned to normal. He bent his head to kiss her, rolling his tongue with hers for long moments before finally shifting their positions so that they lay, fully entwined, beside each other.

For the next hour or so, they cuddled, sipped champagne, fed each other fruit and snacks, and dozed off for a short nap. True to his promise, however, Draco did not sleep for very long. Snuggled against Hermione and with his arm firmly locked around her waist, he awakened just after two o’clock, his thickening erection nested firmly against her behind.

He rolled his hips, slipping his organ sensuously between her cheeks. He shifted his arm upward, cupping her breast and rolling his palm against the nipple. She moaned contentedly and pushed back against his hardness with her derriere while pushing her chest forward into his hand. “You like that, angel?” he whispered hotly into her ear.

“Oh, yes,” she replied, her voice rough and hoarse.

He moved her hair away from her neck and nipped along the creamy column, swirling over the love bites with his tongue to soothe them, rocking against her backside the whole while.

“I want you, Hermione. Do you want me?” he asked, feeling rather confident in her answer.

“I do, Draco. Any way you like,” she affirmed, pushing back against him insistently and gasping when he took her nipple between his fingers and twisted it lightly. “Gods, that’s good.”

He chuckled, and nothing had ever sounded so sexy to her ear. “I love how you love that because they’re one of my favorite bits about you. I like touching and sucking on your tits as much as you seem to enjoy having it done.”

“It makes me so hot and wet when you do that,” she admitted, although it was obvious that he already knew that little detail.

“I want to take you from behind, love, so I can play with your tits while I fuck you,” he said, rasping his words against her neck. “Are you ready for me?”

“Completely,” she avowed, shifting her position to her hands and knees before he could even request it. “Take me this way, love. Don’t hold back.”

He growled low in his chest and kneeled behind her, taking his erection in hand and coating the head with her wetness. When she tilted her hips up and back, he pushed in to the hilt, grinding against her to create greater pressure and friction. Once he felt sure of his balance, he leaned over her back and, using his knees to brace himself, cupped her breasts in his hands, kneading and massaging them firmly and pinching and tugging on her nipples, causing her to groan her pleasure aloud. The pace he’d set with his thrusts was fast and sharp, and the sound of their flesh meeting over and over was heady. His sac swayed and slapped against her clit in this position, and it wasn’t long before she began to shake with the pressure of her impending orgasm.

“Let it go, angel,” Draco urged. “Come for me.”

Two or three more strokes was all it took to send her over the edge, but Draco wasn’t done. He whispered into her ear as she came down from her high, “Since I came just a short while ago, I can go quite a bit longer, love. I want you to come for me at least one more time.” He shifted his position so that he was kneeling upright behind her with his hands on her hips, using the leverage to tug her back against him as he thrust forward, and picking up speed as he moved.

Leaning forward again, he used one hand to span both of her breasts, teasing her nipples lightly. He wet the index finger of his other hand and reached around to circle her clit. He could feel the pressure building relentlessly now and his orgasm crashed on him hard, intensifying as Hermione’s second climax milked the last of his seed from him. They collapsed in a heap on the bed, both gasping for air and dizzy with their ecstasy.

Waiting only a moment or two to regain some sensibility, Draco turned Hermione over onto her back and lifted her knees to open her center. He made love to her core with his mouth and tongue, tasting their combined juices until she shuddered and shouted her third orgasm. That was enough to cause her to briefly lose her contact with the physical world, and Draco propped his head on his bent elbow, face glistening with her wetness and grinning his delight until she finally came to her senses. “Was that good, love?” he asked, eyes bright with pride that he’d sent her so far over the moon.

Her throaty giggle was sufficient answer, but she responded further by grasping his softening member, leaning over and taking it into her mouth. She licked, swirled, and sucked on it for just a few moments until it reached its usual level of tumescence, despite Draco’s orgasm just a few minutes earlier. She sat up briefly and asked, “Do you want me to finish you with my mouth, or shall I ride you?”

His decision was instant. “Climb on, love. Fuck me however you like.”

XXXXX

While they hadn’t made love all night, it had been a near thing. Three hours’ sleep was barely sufficient to allow one to function, but being young and fit, the couple was fairly certain they’d recover after a day or two, adding a kip here and there. When the late morning sun filtered into their suite, rousing first Draco, then his wife, the grunts were not of pleasure but in meager protest of slightly overworked muscles. “Are you a little sore?” Hermione asked when she saw the small wince that accompanied his stretch.

“Deliciously so,” he answered. “Worth every ache and then some.” He leaned in to kiss her thoroughly, running his palm over her hip and up along her ribs. “How about you? Are you all right?” he queried when he finally took a break from making love to her mouth.

“The same. We got rather more… athletic than what our petting has been.”

“By definition,” he agreed with an amused snort. “Can’t wait to build up our endurance. That’s going to require quite a lot of practice and training, Mrs. Malfoy.”

“And you’re just the man to ensure that I never shirk,” she acknowledged, wrapping her arms around his neck and initiating a sensual snog.

“I don’t know about you, love, but I’ve also seemed to work up quite an appetite. I’m famished,” he announced, swinging his legs out of the bed and heading toward the loo. Once done with his morning necessity, he popped his head back into the bedchamber. “Care to join me in the shower? Brunch will be delivered in an hour, and I think I’ve discovered another appetite that needs to be satisfied.” His smirk was devilish, and there was no way she’d even consider refusing him, particularly when he looked so utterly adorable.

They got a bit dirtier before finally acknowledging that the soap and water were meant for something beyond sexual aids, and neither had any inclination to dress before eating. Thus, when room service arrived, they were both clad in nothing more than the thick toweling robes they’d found hanging in the marble bath. They took their brunch in leisurely fashion, sipping coffee and champagne and orange juice cocktails, and feeding each other bites of fresh fruit salad, country ham and vegetable quiche, and the most perfect glazed lemon scones ever produced on the planet.

When they’d finished their small feast, intending to dress for their departure, the couple headed back to the bedroom to find the clothing that they’d been told was stowed in the closets and dressers. They’d been a bit surprised upon awakening to find their wedding finery hung with care and precision, but both were accustomed to the silent and efficient work of house-elves. Their best-laid plans were thwarted temporarily when Hermione opened the closet door and Draco took advantage of her stationary position to wrap his arms around her while she inspected the possibilities of how she’d mix, match or combine the three complementary outfits that had been left for her selection. The hug led to a kiss against that sensitive spot behind her right ear, and that led to more wet kisses trailing all along her neck, necessitating the removal of her dressing gown for better access.

His robe was dropped unceremoniously to the floor, and he carried her back to the bed where he made long, sweet, rapturous love to her for close to an hour. (The benefits of several orgasms in the preceding hours seemed to include his exceptionally extended stamina, over which they were both quite delighted.) Gasps and sighs and groans gave way eventually to shouts proclaiming their ecstasy, and more words of love and devotion. A very short nap was followed by another perfunctory shower, and the couple finally accepted that their brief hours of bliss would need to give way to the realities of life. They both were anxious, though, to see their daughter, and that was enough to prompt them to finally ready themselves for the day.

Hermione selected the simple yet elegant boysenberry A-line dress, sheer nude silk stockings (which gave her the opportunity to again don her marvelous lace suspenders), and a gorgeous pair of Gucci T-strap high heels in a burgundy shade that complemented the dress beautifully. Draco chose a bespoke Muggle-style business suit in charcoal grey, a pale blue cotton oxford, a paisley tie, and his favorite black dragonhide dress shoes. As she looked around the suite, Hermione smiled and sighed. “I guess the house-elves will handle getting the rest of our things back to the townhouse,” she said.

“Yes, love. Nothing for us to do but go home to our girl and finally begin our lives as a real family,” Draco replied, wrapping her in his arms for one more kiss.

“Then what are we waiting for?” she teased, grinning at him broadly.

Draco’s answering smile as she took his arm was bright and content. “Not a thing, angel. Not a thing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Images for this chapter can be found here: http://s712.photobucket.com/user/cklls/library/
> 
> The handfasting and vows were compiled from several sources and mixed and matched until I liked them.
> 
> I'm eager to hear what you think about how the story played out. Please don't forget to leave a note!


	34. Epilogue

19 Years Later

I have discovered that, as I’ve aged, I get a little less sleep than I used to. I require just as much as I always did, but nature seems to have decided that I will not get it. I’m not complaining, mind you, just explaining why I’m wide awake at four in the morning. It might also have something to do with the fact that my daughter is getting married today. I’m not one of those fathers who can’t let go, but I must confess that it wouldn’t make me terribly upset if she decided to postpone her nuptials… for a decade or two.

I’m immensely grateful that our relationship is very close, and that because she’s marrying my lovely wife’s best pal’s son, it’s unlikely they’ll be putting major distances between us, either figuratively or literally. I should have foreseen when she told me at the ripe old age of two-and-a-half that Jamie Potter was her very best friend that this day would come. And like mother, like daughter, she’s marrying a slightly younger man. It’s worked for us; here’s hoping they’ll be as happy as we’ve been.

That’s not to say that we’ve been without our challenges, Hermione and I. But I think we’ve come through them closer and stronger each time. She’s my rock and my angel – always has been and always will be.

Our most difficult and heart-wrenching test came only a year or so into our marriage when Hermione had a horrifying miscarriage at four months into her pregnancy. We’d both been ecstatic when she’d conceived and the first trimester seemed to go pretty smoothly, except for a nasty few weeks of morning sickness. One morning, though, she woke up to intense cramping and more blood than I’d seen in, well, far longer than I cared to recall. Losing the baby had been challenge enough, but I’d almost lost her, too, the hemorrhaging had been so bad. I was so worried about her that I failed to recognize the depression that had set in. She did, though, and it was her emotional strength that pulled both of us through, more connected than ever.

There was some concern that she’d not be able to conceive again, and we waited for nearly a year before even trying to get pregnant. Let’s just say that the miracles of modern medicine have nothing on determined Malfoy sperm. Her next pregnancy was blessedly easy and uncomplicated, and when Alexandre David Granger Malfoy (the “Granger” to further honor her lost family) entered the world kicking and screaming his little lungs out, this father wept many tears of joy and relief, and finally started breathing again. Oh, and he's a mini-me if there ever was one, although now at age sixteen, he’s not so “mini” anymore. It was shortly after his birth that we finally decided to build a larger home on the land that my parents had given us when we married. While it's nowhere near the size of the Manor, it's more appropriate to the size of our family, allowing for the many guests that we entertain, including our friends from Salem whom we see fairly regularly. We do still use the townhouse as a more private refuge when Hermione and I want time away from the world, or as a pied a terre when we have business in London. Alex's younger brother, Nathaniel Draco Granger Malfoy, who was born almost two years after we moved to the new house, is quickly catching up to his older brother. Who knew that thirteen-year-olds could get so tall? While Alex is more like me in both looks and temperament, Nate resembles his mother more, although his eyes are definitely exact copies of mine. He’s also the scary-smart one, and that’s saying something considering the academic achievements of his two older siblings.

We’ve had as many triumphs, though, as a family could hope. Precipitated by the serious injuries my mother suffered when she was thrown from her horse before Hermione and I married, my wife expanded her medical education and added a specialty in Neurology, combining Muggle and magical technologies. It took her nearly five years to do, in between raising our family and actively working as a Mind Healer, but she earned her Muggle M.D. on top of her second certification in the magical world. She now regularly consults with physicians in both realms on difficult injuries and neurological disorders. My wife is so accomplished, and I’m so immensely proud of her.

Speaking of my parents, Mother’s recovery from that devastating accident was remarkably complete. Nearly twenty years on, the only evidence of her ordeal is a small scar at the base of her skull and the slightest difficulty pronouncing words containing the letter “s”. At only sixty-eight years of age, she’s got another forty or fifty good years in her. Father is doing equally well, still intimately involved in running the family business and using “gentle persuasion” to get his way now and again. After that fiasco with the marriage decree so many years ago, he’s learned the lesson that there are severe limits to what we’ll allow him to stick his nose into, but that doesn’t mean that he’s not been tempted once in a while. He’s still a Slytherin at heart, you know.

I’m happy to say that I’ve recently opened my seventh non-profit restaurant in Europe, this one in the lovely green city of Dublin, Ireland. My goblin partners still don’t get it after all this time, but there’s enough cash flowing through the coffers that they manage to make a few Knuts and Sickles along the way with interest payments. If nothing else, there’s intrinsic value in the good publicity they got from helping to finance the venture that’s become such a positive business model for the community. The Feeding Families Foundation has been an unqualified success, and I’m thrilled to say that my former mentor, Bob Gotro, who sold the Grapevine to Marcel two years ago, has, upon Andrea’s retirement, formally taken the helm of the American operation, now encompassing nine locations in the Northeast, not including another twenty-two restaurants that contribute either goods, money, or services. (To top it off, “little” Daryl Roy was educated at the Culinary Institute of America and started working with Marcel a few months ago. Who’d have guessed?) Other than my family, the effort to help people in need is my greatest pride and joy.

As Father’s slowed down just the tiniest bit over the years to enjoy time with Mother and their grandchildren, I’ve also begun to take on a few responsibilities at Malfoy Enterprises. It’ll be another decade or so before I care to delve any deeper into things, but our darling Louisa has shown great interest and aptitude, and it wouldn’t surprise me at all if I just work for her someday, relieving burdens where I can and allowing her creativity to take the business to new heights. That’s another reason that her marriage isn’t freaking me out quite as much as it might otherwise; the family business will help us to stay connected. The boys are still a bit young, and are still more Quidditch-mad than career-minded, but I think it’s likely that Alex will also join the firm at some point. Nate, well, he’s smart enough to do anything he’d like, and he’s shown some interest in his mother’s profession. I don’t see him behind a desk, but at the side of an operating table? Yeah, that’s a strong possibility.

But today, in just about eleven hours, I’ll be watching my baby girl walk down the aisle to wed Harry and Luna Potter’s eldest boy. Hermione always calls me a mush-ball, and she’s more correct than I care to admit. I’ve already come to terms with the fact that I’ll weep like a baby when I kiss my little one’s cheek for the last time as just my daughter. She’ll be Jamie’s wife in a few hours, and as much as I know they love each other and will be a great couple, she’ll always be so very special to me as our first-born. You remember that locket I gave her during our wedding? She said she was going to wear that again today as her “something old.” Thought I was going to lose it entirely when she said that, swear to Merlin.

In the meantime, though, I think I’m going to head back to bed for a little while. I don’t think I can fall asleep again, but maybe I can coax my beautiful wife awake so that I can make love to her. Nothing better than making love in the morning, except maybe making love at night. Or in the afternoon. I’m not fussy. As long as I’ve got my Hermione in my arms, all’s right with the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Truly, The End. Please leave me a note with your feedback.


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